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  • THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  • ADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY

  • "My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his

  • lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the

  • mind of man could invent.

  • We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of

  • existence.

  • If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently

  • remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange

  • coincidences, the plannings, the cross-

  • purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to

  • the most outré results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and

  • foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable."

  • "And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered.

  • "The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and

  • vulgar enough.

  • We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the

  • result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic."

  • "A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect,"

  • remarked Holmes.

  • "This is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon

  • the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain

  • the vital essence of the whole matter.

  • Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace."

  • I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand your thinking so,"

  • I said.

  • "Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is

  • absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with

  • all that is strange and bizarre.

  • But here"--I picked up the morning paper from the ground--"let us put it to a

  • practical test. Here is the first heading upon which I

  • come.

  • 'A husband's cruelty to his wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know

  • without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me.

  • There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the

  • sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing

  • more crude."

  • "Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument," said Holmes, taking the

  • paper and glancing his eye down it.

  • "This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up

  • some small points in connection with it.

  • The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of

  • was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his

  • false teeth and hurling them at his wife,

  • which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the

  • average story-teller.

  • Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in

  • your example." He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with

  • a great amethyst in the centre of the lid.

  • Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could

  • not help commenting upon it. "Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not

  • seen you for some weeks.

  • It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the

  • case of the Irene Adler papers." "And the ring?"

  • I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.

  • "It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I

  • served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have

  • been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems."

  • "And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.

  • "Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest.

  • They are important, you understand, without being interesting.

  • Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field

  • for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives

  • the charm to an investigation.

  • The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more

  • obvious, as a rule, is the motive.

  • In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to

  • me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest.

  • It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many minutes

  • are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken."

  • He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing

  • down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.

  • Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large

  • woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-

  • brimmed hat which was tilted in a

  • coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear.

  • From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our

  • windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with

  • her glove buttons.

  • Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the

  • road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell.

  • "I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the

  • fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always means

  • an affaire de coeur.

  • She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for

  • communication. And yet even here we may discriminate.

  • When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the

  • usual symptom is a broken bell wire.

  • Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much

  • angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our

  • doubts."

  • As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce

  • Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black

  • figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat.

  • Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,

  • having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the

  • minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.

  • "Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so

  • much typewriting?"

  • "I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters are without

  • looking."

  • Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and

  • looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face.

  • "You've heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?"

  • "Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know things.

  • Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook.

  • If not, why should you come to consult me?"

  • "I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found

  • so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead.

  • Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me.

  • I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little

  • that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr.

  • Hosmer Angel."

  • "Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked Sherlock Holmes, with

  • his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.

  • Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary

  • Sutherland.

  • "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said, "for it made me angry to see the easy

  • way in which Mr. Windibank--that is, my father--took it all.

  • He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would

  • do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I

  • just on with my things and came right away to you."

  • "Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the name is

  • different."

  • "Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,

  • too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself."

  • "And your mother is alive?"

  • "Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she

  • married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years

  • younger than herself.

  • Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind

  • him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank

  • came he made her sell the business, for he

  • was very superior, being a traveller in wines.

  • They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as

  • father could have got if he had been alive."

  • I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and

  • inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest

  • concentration of attention.

  • "Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the business?"

  • "Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my

  • uncle Ned in Auckland.

  • It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per cent.

  • Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest."

  • "You interest me extremely," said Holmes.

  • "And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the

  • bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way.

  • I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60

  • pounds."

  • "I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as

  • I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the

  • money just while I am staying with them.

  • Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every

  • quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I

  • earn at typewriting.

  • It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a

  • day." "You have made your position very clear to

  • me," said Holmes.

  • "This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself.

  • Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  • A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of

  • her jacket. "I met him first at the gasfitters' ball,"

  • she said.

  • "They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they

  • remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go.

  • He never did wish us to go anywhere.

  • He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat.

  • But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent?

  • He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father's friends were to be

  • there.

  • And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never

  • so much as taken out of the drawer.

  • At last, when nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of the

  • firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it

  • was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  • "I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came back from France he was very

  • annoyed at your having gone to the ball." "Oh, well, he was very good about it.

  • He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use

  • denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way."

  • "I see.

  • Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer

  • Angel." "Yes, sir.

  • I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and

  • after that we met him--that is to say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but

  • after that father came back again, and Mr.

  • Hosmer Angel could not come to the house any more."

  • "No?" "Well, you know father didn't like anything

  • of the sort.

  • He wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman

  • should be happy in her own family circle.

  • But then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with,

  • and I had not got mine yet." "But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel?

  • Did he make no attempt to see you?"

  • "Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that

  • it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone.

  • We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day.

  • I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know."

  • "Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"

  • "Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that

  • we took.

  • Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall Street--and--"

  • "What office?" "That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I

  • don't know."

  • "Where did he live, then?" "He slept on the premises."

  • "And you don't know his address?" "No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."

  • "Where did you address your letters, then?"

  • "To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called for.

  • He said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other

  • clerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them, like he did

  • his, but he wouldn't have that, for he said

  • that when I wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he

  • always felt that the machine had come between us.

  • That will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that

  • he would think of." "It was most suggestive," said Holmes.

  • "It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most

  • important. Can you remember any other little things

  • about Mr. Hosmer Angel?"

  • "He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening

  • than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous.

  • Very retiring and gentlemanly he was.

  • Even his voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when

  • he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating,

  • whispering fashion of speech.

  • He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine

  • are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare."

  • "Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to

  • France?"

  • "Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before

  • father came back.

  • He was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that

  • whatever happened I would always be true to him.

  • Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his

  • passion. Mother was all in his favour from the first

  • and was even fonder of him than I was.

  • Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but

  • they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother

  • said she would make it all right with him.

  • I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes.

  • It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older

  • than me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at

  • Bordeaux, where the company has its French

  • offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding."

  • "It missed him, then?" "Yes, sir; for he had started to England

  • just before it arrived."

  • "Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the

  • Friday. Was it to be in church?"

  • "Yes, sir, but very quietly.

  • It was to be at St. Saviour's, near King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast

  • afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel.

  • Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it

  • and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in

  • the street.

  • We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to

  • step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked

  • there was no one there!

  • The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him

  • get in with his own eyes.

  • That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since

  • then to throw any light upon what became of him."

  • "It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated," said Holmes.

  • "Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so.

  • Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true;

  • and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to

  • remember that I was pledged to him, and

  • that he would claim his pledge sooner or later.

  • It seemed strange talk for a wedding- morning, but what has happened since gives

  • a meaning to it."

  • "Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some

  • unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?"

  • "Yes, sir.

  • I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so.

  • And then I think that what he foresaw happened."

  • "But you have no notion as to what it could have been?"

  • "None." "One more question.

  • How did your mother take the matter?"

  • "She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again."

  • "And your father? Did you tell him?"

  • "Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that I should

  • hear of Hosmer again.

  • As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church,

  • and then leaving me?

  • Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on

  • him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about money and never

  • would look at a shilling of mine.

  • And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write?

  • Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night."

  • She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.

  • "I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising, "and I have no doubt

  • that we shall reach some definite result.

  • Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it

  • further.

  • Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done

  • from your life." "Then you don't think I'll see him again?"

  • "I fear not."

  • "Then what has happened to him?" "You will leave that question in my hands.

  • I should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can

  • spare."

  • "I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she.

  • "Here is the slip and here are four letters from him."

  • "Thank you.

  • And your address?" "No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."

  • "Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand.

  • Where is your father's place of business?"

  • "He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch

  • Street." "Thank you.

  • You have made your statement very clearly.

  • You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you.

  • Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life."

  • "You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that.

  • I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."

  • For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in

  • the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect.

  • She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise

  • to come again whenever she might be summoned.

  • Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed

  • together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the

  • ceiling.

  • Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a

  • counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue

  • cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.

  • "Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed.

  • "I found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is

  • rather a trite one.

  • You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in '77, and

  • there was something of the sort at The Hague last year.

  • Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me.

  • But the maiden herself was most instructive."

  • "You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me," I

  • remarked. "Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson.

  • You did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important.

  • I can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness

  • of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.

  • Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance?

  • Describe it."

  • "Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad- brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a

  • brickish red.

  • Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet

  • ornaments.

  • Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush

  • at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn

  • through at the right forefinger.

  • Her boots I didn't observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings,

  • and a general air of being fairly well-to- do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going

  • way."

  • Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

  • "'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully.

  • You have really done very well indeed.

  • It is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the

  • method, and you have a quick eye for colour.

  • Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details.

  • My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve.

  • In a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser.

  • As you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful

  • material for showing traces.

  • The double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the

  • table, was beautifully defined.

  • The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left

  • arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across

  • the broadest part, as this was.

  • I then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of

  • her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to

  • surprise her."

  • "It surprised me." "But, surely, it was obvious.

  • I was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the

  • boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the

  • one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one.

  • One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the

  • first, third, and fifth.

  • Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away

  • from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came

  • away in a hurry."

  • "And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always

  • was, by my friend's incisive reasoning.

  • "I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being

  • fully dressed.

  • You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not

  • apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink.

  • She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep.

  • It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.

  • All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back to business,

  • Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised

  • description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"

  • I held the little printed slip to the light.

  • "Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel.

  • About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black

  • hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted

  • glasses, slight infirmity of speech.

  • Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black

  • waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters

  • over elastic-sided boots.

  • Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street.

  • Anybody bringing--" "That will do," said Holmes.

  • "As to the letters," he continued, glancing over them, "they are very commonplace.

  • Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once.

  • There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you."

  • "They are typewritten," I remarked. "Not only that, but the signature is

  • typewritten.

  • Look at the neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom.

  • There is a date, you see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street,

  • which is rather vague.

  • The point about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it

  • conclusive." "Of what?"

  • "My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?"

  • "I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature

  • if an action for breach of promise were instituted."

  • "No, that was not the point.

  • However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter.

  • One is to a firm in the City, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr.

  • Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening.

  • It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives.

  • And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we

  • may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim."

  • I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and

  • extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for

  • the assured and easy demeanour with which

  • he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom.

  • Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the

  • Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the Sign of

  • Four, and the extraordinary circumstances

  • connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed

  • which he could not unravel.

  • I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when I

  • came again on the next evening I would find that he held in his hands all the clues

  • which would lead up to the identity of the

  • disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.

  • A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and

  • the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer.

  • It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself free and was able to

  • spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too

  • late to assist at thenouement of the little mystery.

  • I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form

  • curled up in the recesses of his armchair.

  • A formidable array of bottles and test- tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of

  • hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which

  • was so dear to him.

  • "Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.

  • "Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta." "No, no, the mystery!"

  • I cried.

  • "Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been

  • working upon.

  • There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the

  • details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law,

  • I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."

  • "Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?"

  • The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to

  • reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door.

  • "This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes.

  • "He has written to me to say that he would be here at six.

  • Come in!"

  • The man who entered was a sturdy, middle- sized fellow, some thirty years of age,

  • clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of

  • wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes.

  • He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the

  • sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.

  • "Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes.

  • "I think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment

  • with me for six o'clock?"

  • "Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I

  • am not quite my own master, you know.

  • I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for

  • I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public.

  • It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable,

  • impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she

  • has made up her mind on a point.

  • Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official

  • police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad.

  • Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"

  • "On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason to believe that I will

  • succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  • Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves.

  • "I am delighted to hear it," he said.

  • "It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has really quite as much

  • individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them

  • write exactly alike.

  • Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side.

  • Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some

  • little slurring over of the 'e,' and a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.'

  • There are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious."

  • "We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a

  • little worn," our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright

  • little eyes.

  • "And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Windibank,"

  • Holmes continued.

  • "I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the

  • typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted

  • some little attention.

  • I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man.

  • They are all typewritten.

  • In each case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you

  • will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other

  • characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well."

  • Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat.

  • "I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes," he said.

  • "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it."

  • "Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door.

  • "I let you know, then, that I have caught him!"

  • "What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing

  • about him like a rat in a trap. "Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said

  • Holmes suavely.

  • "There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank.

  • It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it

  • was impossible for me to solve so simple a question.

  • That's right!

  • Sit down and let us talk it over." Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a

  • ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow.

  • "It--it's not actionable," he stammered.

  • "I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as

  • cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me.

  • Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go

  • wrong."

  • The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who

  • is utterly crushed.

  • Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his

  • hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us.

  • "The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money," said he, "and

  • he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them.

  • It was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would

  • have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it.

  • The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-

  • hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and

  • her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long.

  • Now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her

  • stepfather do to prevent it?

  • He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the

  • company of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not

  • answer forever.

  • She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive

  • intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then?

  • He conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart.

  • With the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those

  • keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy

  • whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an

  • insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl's short sight, he

  • appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself."

  • "It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor.

  • "We never thought that she would have been so carried away."

  • "Very likely not.

  • However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having

  • quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery

  • never for an instant entered her mind.

  • She was flattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by

  • the loudly expressed admiration of her mother.

  • Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as

  • far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced.

  • There were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl's

  • affections from turning towards anyone else.

  • But the deception could not be kept up forever.

  • These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous.

  • The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic

  • manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and

  • prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come.

  • Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to

  • a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding.

  • James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so

  • uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not

  • listen to another man.

  • As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he

  • conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-

  • wheeler and out at the other.

  • I think that was the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!"

  • Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes had been talking,

  • and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face.

  • "It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if you are so very sharp you

  • ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not

  • me.

  • I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door

  • locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint."

  • "The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open

  • the door, "yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more.

  • If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your

  • shoulders.

  • By Jove!" he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's

  • face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a hunting crop handy,

  • and I think I shall just treat myself to--"

  • He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild

  • clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we

  • could see Mr. James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.

  • "There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down

  • into his chair once more.

  • "That fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends

  • on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not

  • entirely devoid of interest."

  • "I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I remarked.

  • "Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have

  • some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man

  • who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather.

  • Then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared

  • when the other was away, was suggestive.

  • So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a

  • disguise, as did the bushy whiskers.

  • My suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his

  • signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that

  • she would recognise even the smallest sample of it.

  • You see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the

  • same direction."

  • "And how did you verify them?" "Having once spotted my man, it was easy to

  • get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked.

  • Having taken the printed description.

  • I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise--the whiskers,

  • the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would

  • inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers.

  • I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man

  • himself at his business address asking him if he would come here.

  • As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but

  • characteristic defects.

  • The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street,

  • to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé,

  • James Windibank.

  • Voilà tout!" "And Miss Sutherland?"

  • "If I tell her she will not believe me.

  • You may remember the old Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the

  • tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.'

  • There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the

  • world."

  • >

  • THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  • ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

  • We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a

  • telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this

  • way:

  • "Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of

  • England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.

  • Shall be glad if you will come with me.

  • Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15."

  • "What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me.

  • "Will you go?"

  • "I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present."

  • "Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately.

  • I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr.

  • Sherlock Holmes' cases."

  • "I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them,"

  • I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once,

  • for I have only half an hour."

  • My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a

  • prompt and ready traveller.

  • My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab

  • with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station.

  • Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even

  • gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth

  • cap.

  • "It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he.

  • "It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can

  • thoroughly rely.

  • Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed.

  • If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets."

  • We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes

  • had brought with him.

  • Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation,

  • until we were past Reading.

  • Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the

  • rack. "Have you heard anything of the case?" he

  • asked.

  • "Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."

  • "The London press has not had very full accounts.

  • I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the

  • particulars.

  • It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely

  • difficult." "That sounds a little paradoxical."

  • "But it is profoundly true.

  • Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a

  • crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home.

  • In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the

  • son of the murdered man." "It is a murder, then?"

  • "Well, it is conjectured to be so.

  • I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally

  • into it.

  • I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand

  • it, in a very few words. "Boscombe Valley is a country district not

  • very far from Ross, in Herefordshire.

  • The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in

  • Australia and returned some years ago to the old country.

  • One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy,

  • who was also an ex-Australian.

  • The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that

  • when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible.

  • Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still

  • remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together.

  • McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same

  • age, but neither of them had wives living.

  • They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to

  • have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were

  • frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood.

  • McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.

  • Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least.

  • That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families.

  • Now for the facts.

  • "On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about

  • three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake

  • formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley.

  • He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man

  • that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three.

  • From that appointment he never came back alive.

  • "From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people

  • saw him as he passed over this ground.

  • One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William

  • Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner.

  • Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone.

  • The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he

  • had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm.

  • To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son

  • was following him.

  • He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that

  • had occurred.

  • "The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost

  • sight of them.

  • The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds

  • round the edge.

  • A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the

  • Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers.

  • She states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by

  • the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent

  • quarrel.

  • She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the

  • latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father.

  • She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when

  • she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool,

  • and that she was afraid that they were going to fight.

  • She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge

  • to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the

  • lodge-keeper.

  • He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve

  • were observed to be stained with fresh blood.

  • On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the

  • pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated

  • blows of some heavy and blunt weapon.

  • The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his

  • son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body.

  • Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of

  • 'wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday

  • brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes.

  • Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the

  • police-court."

  • "I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked.

  • "If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here."

  • "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes thoughtfully.

  • "It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of

  • view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to

  • something entirely different.

  • It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the

  • young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit.

  • There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss

  • Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence,

  • and who have retained Lestrade, whom you

  • may recollect in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his

  • interest.

  • Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is

  • that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of

  • quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."

  • "I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit

  • to be gained out of this case."

  • "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he answered, laughing.

  • "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by

  • no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade.

  • You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either

  • confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing,

  • or even of understanding.

  • To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the

  • window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have

  • noted even so self-evident a thing as that."

  • "How on earth--" "My dear fellow, I know you well.

  • I know the military neatness which characterises you.

  • You shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your

  • shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it

  • becomes positively slovenly as we get round

  • the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated

  • than the other.

  • I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and

  • being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of

  • observation and inference.

  • Therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in

  • the investigation which lies before us.

  • There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which

  • are worth considering." "What are they?"

  • "It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to

  • Hatherley Farm.

  • On the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked

  • that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.

  • This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt

  • which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury."

  • "It was a confession," I ejaculated.

  • "No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."

  • "Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most

  • suspicious remark."

  • "On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I can at present see

  • in the clouds.

  • However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see

  • that the circumstances were very black against him.

  • Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I

  • should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger

  • would not be natural under the

  • circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man.

  • His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a

  • man of considerable self-restraint and firmness.

  • As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he

  • stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that

  • very day so far forgotten his filial duty

  • as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence

  • is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him.

  • The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be

  • the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one."

  • I shook my head.

  • "Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence," I remarked.

  • "So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."

  • "What is the young man's own account of the matter?"

  • "It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or

  • two points in it which are suggestive.

  • You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."

  • He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having

  • turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young

  • man had given his own statement of what had occurred.

  • I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully.

  • It ran in this way:

  • "Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence

  • as follows: 'I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just

  • returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3rd.

  • My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the

  • maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom.

  • Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out

  • of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not

  • aware in which direction he was going.

  • I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the

  • intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side.

  • On my way I saw William Crowder, the game- keeper, as he had stated in his evidence;

  • but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father.

  • I had no idea that he was in front of me.

  • When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual

  • signal between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him

  • standing by the pool.

  • He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was

  • doing there.

  • A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father

  • was a man of a very violent temper.

  • Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned

  • towards Hatherley Farm.

  • I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry

  • behind me, which caused me to run back again.

  • I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured.

  • I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired.

  • I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-

  • keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance.

  • I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by

  • his injuries.

  • He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he

  • had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'

  • "The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?

  • "Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.

  • "The Coroner: What did you understand by that?

  • "Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious.

  • "The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?

  • "Witness: I should prefer not to answer. "The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press

  • it.

  • "Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you.

  • I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.

  • "The Coroner: That is for the court to decide.

  • I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case

  • considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.

  • "Witness: I must still refuse.

  • "The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common signal between you and

  • your father? "Witness: It was.

  • "The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he

  • even knew that you had returned from Bristol?

  • "Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.

  • "A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned

  • on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?

  • "Witness: Nothing definite.

  • "The Coroner: What do you mean? "Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as

  • I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father.

  • Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to

  • the left of me.

  • It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid

  • perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round

  • for it, but it was gone.

  • "'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'

  • "'Yes, it was gone.' "'You cannot say what it was?'

  • "'No, I had a feeling something was there.'

  • "'How far from the body?' "'A dozen yards or so.'

  • "'And how far from the edge of the wood?' "'About the same.'

  • "'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?'

  • "'Yes, but with my back towards it.' "This concluded the examination of the

  • witness."

  • "I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in his concluding

  • remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.

  • He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having

  • signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his

  • conversation with his father, and his

  • singular account of his father's dying words.

  • They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son."

  • Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned

  • seat.

  • "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains," said he, "to single out the very

  • strongest points in the young man's favour.

  • Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and

  • too little?

  • Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the

  • sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness

  • anything so outré as a dying reference to a

  • rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth.

  • No, sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man

  • says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us.

  • And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until

  • we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we

  • shall be there in twenty minutes."

  • It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud

  • Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little

  • country-town of Ross.

  • A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly- looking, was waiting for us upon the

  • platform.

  • In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference

  • to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of

  • Scotland Yard.

  • With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for

  • us. "I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade

  • as we sat over a cup of tea.

  • "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on

  • the scene of the crime." "It was very nice and complimentary of

  • you," Holmes answered.

  • "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."

  • Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.

  • "How is the glass?

  • Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky.

  • I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much

  • superior to the usual country hotel abomination.

  • I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night."

  • Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed your

  • conclusions from the newspapers," he said.

  • "The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it

  • becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady,

  • and such a very positive one, too.

  • She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that

  • there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done.

  • Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door."

  • He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young

  • women that I have ever seen in my life.

  • Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of

  • her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern.

  • "Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and

  • finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad

  • that you have come.

  • I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it.

  • I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too.

  • Never let yourself doubt upon that point.

  • We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as

  • no one else does; but he is too tender- hearted to hurt a fly.

  • Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."

  • "I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes.

  • "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."

  • "But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion?

  • Do you not see some loophole, some flaw?

  • Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?"

  • "I think that it is very probable." "There, now!" she cried, throwing back her

  • head and looking defiantly at Lestrade.

  • "You hear! He gives me hopes."

  • Lestrade shrugged his shoulders.

  • "I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions,"

  • he said. "But he is right.

  • Oh!

  • I know that he is right. James never did it.

  • And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak

  • about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it."

  • "In what way?" asked Holmes.

  • "It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements

  • about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there

  • should be a marriage between us.

  • James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is

  • young and has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish

  • to do anything like that yet.

  • So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."

  • "And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?"

  • "No, he was averse to it also.

  • No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it."

  • A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen,

  • questioning glances at her.

  • "Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father if I call to-

  • morrow?" "I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."

  • "The doctor?"

  • "Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years

  • back, but this has broken him down completely.

  • He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his

  • nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had

  • known dad in the old days in Victoria."

  • "Ha! In Victoria!

  • That is important." "Yes, at the mines."

  • "Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money."

  • "Yes, certainly." "Thank you, Miss Turner.

  • You have been of material assistance to me."

  • "You will tell me if you have any news to- morrow.

  • No doubt you will go to the prison to see James.

  • Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent."

  • "I will, Miss Turner."

  • "I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him.

  • Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking."

  • She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of

  • her carriage rattle off down the street.

  • "I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes'

  • silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you

  • are bound to disappoint?

  • I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."

  • "I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes.

  • "Have you an order to see him in prison?"

  • "Yes, but only for you and me." "Then I shall reconsider my resolution

  • about going out. We have still time to take a train to

  • Hereford and see him to-night?"

  • "Ample." "Then let us do so.

  • Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of

  • hours."

  • I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the

  • little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried

  • to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel.

  • The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery

  • through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the

  • action to the fact, that I at last flung it

  • across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the

  • day.

  • Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutely true, then what

  • hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have

  • occurred between the time when he parted

  • from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the

  • glade? It was something terrible and deadly.

  • What could it be?

  • Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?

  • I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim

  • account of the inquest.

  • In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left

  • parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a

  • heavy blow from a blunt weapon.

  • I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck

  • from behind.

  • That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was

  • face to face with his father.

  • Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before

  • the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call

  • Holmes' attention to it.

  • Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat.

  • What could that mean? It could not be delirium.

  • A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious.

  • No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate.

  • But what could it indicate?

  • I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation.

  • And then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy.

  • If that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably

  • his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it

  • away at the instant when the son was

  • kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off.

  • What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was!

  • I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes'

  • insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen

  • his conviction of young McCarthy's innocence.

  • It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned.

  • He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

  • "The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down.

  • "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the

  • ground.

  • On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as

  • that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey.

  • I have seen young McCarthy."

  • "And what did you learn from him?" "Nothing."

  • "Could he throw no light?" "None at all.

  • I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him

  • or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else.

  • He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,

  • sound at heart."

  • "I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that he was averse

  • to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner."

  • "Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale.

  • This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he

  • was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a

  • boarding-school, what does the idiot do but

  • get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office?

  • No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him

  • to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows

  • to be absolutely impossible.

  • It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when

  • his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner.

  • On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was

  • by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the

  • truth.

  • It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and

  • his father did not know where he was. Mark that point.

  • It is of importance.

  • Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is

  • in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written

  • to him to say that she has a husband

  • already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them.

  • I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has

  • suffered."

  • "But if he is innocent, who has done it?" "Ah! who?

  • I would call your attention very particularly to two points.

  • One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and

  • that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not

  • know when he would return.

  • The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that

  • his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the

  • case depends.

  • And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor

  • matters until to-morrow." There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold,

  • and the morning broke bright and cloudless.

  • At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley

  • Farm and the Boscombe Pool. "There is serious news this morning,"

  • Lestrade observed.

  • "It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of."

  • "An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes.

  • "About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has

  • been in failing health for some time. This business has had a very bad effect

  • upon him.

  • He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I

  • have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

  • "Indeed!

  • That is interesting," said Holmes. "Oh, yes!

  • In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness

  • to him."

  • "Really!

  • Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had

  • little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still

  • talk of marrying his son to Turner's

  • daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very

  • cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would

  • follow?

  • It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea.

  • The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"

  • "We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me.

  • "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories

  • and fancies."

  • "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to tackle the facts."

  • "Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of,"

  • replied Lestrade with some warmth.

  • "And that is--" "That McCarthy senior met his death from

  • McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."

  • "Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes, laughing.

  • "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left."

  • "Yes, that is it."

  • It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with

  • great yellow blotches of lichen upon the grey walls.

  • The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look,

  • as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it.

  • We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which

  • her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not

  • the pair which he had then had.

  • Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes

  • desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track

  • which led to Boscombe Pool.

  • Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this.

  • Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have

  • failed to recognise him.

  • His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black

  • lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.

  • His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins

  • stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck.

  • His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was

  • so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell

  • unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most,

  • only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply.

  • Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows,

  • and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool.

  • It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many

  • feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side.

  • Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little

  • detour into the meadow.

  • Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,

  • while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every

  • one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.

  • The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed- girt sheet of water some fifty yards

  • across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of

  • the wealthy Mr. Turner.

  • Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting

  • pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling.

  • On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow

  • belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds

  • which lined the lake.

  • Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so

  • moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the

  • fall of the stricken man.

  • To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things

  • were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up

  • a scent, and then turned upon my companion.

  • "What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.

  • "I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or

  • other trace.

  • But how on earth--" "Oh, tut, tut!

  • I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward

  • twist is all over the place.

  • A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds.

  • Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of

  • buffalo and wallowed all over it.

  • Here is where the party with the lodge- keeper came, and they have covered all

  • tracks for six or eight feet round the body.

  • But here are three separate tracks of the same feet."

  • He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking

  • all the time rather to himself than to us.

  • "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran

  • swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible.

  • That bears out his story.

  • He ran when he saw his father on the ground.

  • Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down.

  • What is this, then?

  • It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening.

  • And this? Ha, ha!

  • What have we here?

  • Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots!

  • They come, they go, they come again--of course that was for the cloak.

  • Now where did they come from?"

  • He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were

  • well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest

  • tree in the neighbourhood.

  • Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his

  • face with a little cry of satisfaction.

  • For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering

  • up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not

  • only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach.

  • A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and

  • retained.

  • Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all

  • traces were lost.

  • "It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked, returning to his

  • natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house on the right

  • must be the lodge.

  • I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little

  • note. Having done that, we may drive back to our

  • luncheon.

  • You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently."

  • It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes

  • still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood.

  • "This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out.

  • "The murder was done with it." "I see no marks."

  • "There are none."

  • "How do you know, then?" "The grass was growing under it.

  • It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had

  • been taken.

  • It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon."

  • "And the murderer?"

  • "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots

  • and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt

  • pen-knife in his pocket.

  • There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our

  • search." Lestrade laughed.

  • "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he said.

  • "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury."

  • "Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly.

  • "You work your own method, and I shall work mine.

  • I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening

  • train."

  • "And leave your case unfinished?" "No, finished."

  • "But the mystery?" "It is solved."

  • "Who was the criminal, then?"

  • "The gentleman I describe." "But who is he?"

  • "Surely it would not be difficult to find out.

  • This is not such a populous neighbourhood."

  • Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said, "and I

  • really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman

  • with a game leg.

  • I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."

  • "All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance.

  • Here are your lodgings.

  • Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave."

  • Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the

  • table.

  • Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as

  • one who finds himself in a perplexing position.

  • "Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit down in this chair

  • and let me preach to you for a little. I don't know quite what to do, and I should

  • value your advice.

  • Light a cigar and let me expound." "Pray do so."

  • "Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy's

  • narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour

  • and you against him.

  • One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!'

  • before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference

  • to a rat.

  • He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear.

  • Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by

  • presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true."

  • "What of this 'Cooee!' then?"

  • "Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son.

  • The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within

  • earshot.

  • The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the

  • appointment with. But 'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry,

  • and one which is used between Australians.

  • There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him

  • at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia."

  • "What of the rat, then?"

  • Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the

  • table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,"

  • he said.

  • "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his hand over part of the map.

  • "What do you read?" "ARAT," I read.

  • "And now?"

  • He raised his hand. "BALLARAT."

  • "Quite so.

  • That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two

  • syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his

  • murderer.

  • So and so, of Ballarat." "It is wonderful!"

  • I exclaimed. "It is obvious.

  • And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably.

  • The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son's

  • statement to be correct, was a certainty.

  • We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian

  • from Ballarat with a grey cloak." "Certainly."

  • "And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the

  • farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander."

  • "Quite so."

  • "Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained

  • the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of

  • the criminal."

  • "But how did you gain them?" "You know my method.

  • It is founded upon the observation of trifles."

  • "His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride.

  • His boots, too, might be told from their traces."

  • "Yes, they were peculiar boots."

  • "But his lameness?" "The impression of his right foot was

  • always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it.

  • Why?

  • Because he limped--he was lame." "But his left-handedness."

  • "You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at

  • the inquest.

  • The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side.

  • Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man?

  • He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son.

  • He had even smoked there.

  • I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables

  • me to pronounce as an Indian cigar.

  • I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on

  • the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco.

  • Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss

  • where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety

  • which are rolled in Rotterdam."

  • "And the cigar-holder?" "I could see that the end had not been in

  • his mouth. Therefore he used a holder.

  • The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I

  • deduced a blunt pen-knife."

  • "Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape,

  • and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which

  • was hanging him.

  • I see the direction in which all this points.

  • The culprit is--"

  • "Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and

  • ushering in a visitor. The man who entered was a strange and

  • impressive figure.

  • His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet

  • his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was

  • possessed of unusual strength of body and of character.

  • His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to

  • give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen

  • white, while his lips and the corners of

  • his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue.

  • It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic

  • disease.

  • "Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently.

  • "You had my note?" "Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up.

  • You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal."

  • "I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."

  • "And why did you wish to see me?"

  • He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his

  • question was already answered. "Yes," said Holmes, answering the look

  • rather than the words.

  • "It is so. I know all about McCarthy."

  • The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried.

  • "But I would not have let the young man come to harm.

  • I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes."

  • "I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.

  • "I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl.

  • It would break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested."

  • "It may not come to that," said Holmes. "What?"

  • "I am no official agent.

  • I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting

  • in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however."

  • "I am a dying man," said old Turner.

  • "I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I

  • shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof

  • than in a gaol."

  • Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper

  • before him. "Just tell us the truth," he said.

  • "I shall jot down the facts.

  • You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it.

  • Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy.

  • I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed."

  • "It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether I shall live to the

  • Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock.

  • And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but

  • will not take me long to tell. "You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy.

  • He was a devil incarnate.

  • I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a

  • man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty

  • years, and he has blasted my life.

  • I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power.

  • "It was in the early '60's at the diggings.

  • I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at

  • anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took

  • to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber.

  • There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from

  • time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings.

  • Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in

  • the colony as the Ballarat Gang.

  • "One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait

  • for it and attacked it.

  • There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four

  • of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however,

  • before we got the swag.

  • I put my pistol to the head of the wagon- driver, who was this very man McCarthy.

  • I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his

  • wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature.

  • We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England

  • without being suspected.

  • There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and

  • respectable life.

  • I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a

  • little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it.

  • I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice.

  • Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as

  • nothing else had ever done.

  • In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past.

  • All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.

  • "I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly

  • a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.

  • "'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as good as a family

  • to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you

  • can have the keeping of us.

  • If you don't--it's a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a

  • policeman within hail.'

  • "Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there

  • they have lived rent free on my best land ever since.

  • There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there

  • was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow.

  • It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my

  • past than of the police.

  • Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without

  • question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not

  • give.

  • He asked for Alice.

  • "His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak

  • health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole

  • property.

  • But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed

  • with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that

  • was enough.

  • I stood firm. McCarthy threatened.

  • I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between

  • our houses to talk it over.

  • "When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a cigar and

  • waited behind a tree until he should be alone.

  • But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come

  • uppermost.

  • He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might

  • think as if she were a slut from off the streets.

  • It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the

  • power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond?

  • I was already a dying and a desperate man.

  • Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed.

  • But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence

  • that foul tongue.

  • I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again.

  • Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it.

  • But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I

  • could suffer.

  • I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous

  • beast.

  • His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was

  • forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight.

  • That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred."

  • "Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old man signed the statement

  • which had been drawn out.

  • "I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation."

  • "I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"

  • "In view of your health, nothing.

  • You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher

  • court than the Assizes.

  • I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to

  • use it.

  • If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive

  • or dead, shall be safe with us." "Farewell, then," said the old man

  • solemnly.

  • "Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace

  • which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all his giant

  • frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.

  • "God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence.

  • "Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms?

  • I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say,

  • 'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"

  • James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections

  • which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel.

  • Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is

  • every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in

  • ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.

  • >

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

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