gutenburg/books/the_adventure_of_the_engineers_thumb.txt

Title: THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER’S THUMB

Author: Arthur Conan Doyle




















Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy, there
were only two which I was the means of introducing to his notice—that
of Mr. Hatherley’s thumb, and that of Colonel Warburton’s madness. Of
these the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acute and
original observer, but the other was so strange in its inception and so
dramatic in its details that it may be the more worthy of being placed
upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those
deductive methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable
results. The story has, I believe, been told more than once in the
newspapers, but, like all such narratives, its effect is much less
striking when set forth _en bloc_ in a single half-column of print than
when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery
clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which
leads on to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a
deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served
to weaken the effect.

It was in the summer of ’89, not long after my marriage, that the
events occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned to
civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker Street
rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally even
persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come and visit
us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I happened to live at no
very great distance from Paddington Station, I got a few patients from
among the officials. One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and
lingering disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues and of
endeavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he might have any
influence.

One morning, at a little before seven o’clock, I was awakened by the
maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come from
Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I dressed
hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases were seldom
trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my old ally, the
guard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behind him.

“I’ve got him here,” he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder;
“he’s all right.”

“What is it, then?” I asked, for his manner suggested that it was some
strange creature which he had caged up in my room.

“It’s a new patient,” he whispered. “I thought I’d bring him round
myself; then he couldn’t slip away. There he is, all safe and sound. I
must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the same as you.” And off
he went, this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him.

I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the table.
He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth cap
which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of his hands he had a
handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all over with bloodstains. He
was young, not more than five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong,
masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression
of a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took
all his strength of mind to control.

“I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor,” said he, “but I have had
a very serious accident during the night. I came in by train this
morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I might find a
doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a
card, but I see that she has left it upon the side-table.”

I took it up and glanced at it. “Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic
engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor).” That was the name, style,
and abode of my morning visitor. “I regret that I have kept you
waiting,” said I, sitting down in my library-chair. “You are fresh from
a night journey, I understand, which is in itself a monotonous
occupation.”

“Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,” said he, and laughed. He
laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in his
chair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against
that laugh.

“Stop it!” I cried; “pull yourself together!” and I poured out some
water from a caraffe.

It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical
outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is
over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and
pale-looking.

“I have been making a fool of myself,” he gasped.

“Not at all. Drink this.” I dashed some brandy into the water, and the
colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.

“That’s better!” said he. “And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindly
attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be.”

He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my
hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protruding
fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have
been. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.

“Good heavens!” I cried, “this is a terrible injury. It must have bled
considerably.”

“Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must have
been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that it was
still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly round
the wrist and braced it up with a twig.”

“Excellent! You should have been a surgeon.”

“It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own
province.”

“This has been done,” said I, examining the wound, “by a very heavy and
sharp instrument.”

“A thing like a cleaver,” said he.

“An accident, I presume?”

“By no means.”

“What! a murderous attack?”

“Very murderous indeed.”

“You horrify me.”

I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered it
over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back without
wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.

“How is that?” I asked when I had finished.

“Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man. I was
very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through.”

“Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently trying
to your nerves.”

“Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police; but,
between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this
wound of mine, I should be surprised if they believed my statement, for
it is a very extraordinary one, and I have not much in the way of proof
with which to back it up; and, even if they believe me, the clues which
I can give them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will
be done.”

“Ha!” cried I, “if it is anything in the nature of a problem which you
desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you to come to my
friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the official police.”

“Oh, I have heard of that fellow,” answered my visitor, “and I should
be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course I must
use the official police as well. Would you give me an introduction to
him?”

“I’ll do better. I’ll take you round to him myself.”

“I should be immensely obliged to you.”

“We’ll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to have a
little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?”

“Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.”

“Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an
instant.” I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife,
and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my new
acquaintance to Baker Street.

Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-room in
his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of _The Times_ and smoking
his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs and
dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and
collected on the corner of the mantelpiece. He received us in his
quietly genial fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us
in a hearty meal. When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance
upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of
brandy and water within his reach.

“It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, Mr.
Hatherley,” said he. “Pray, lie down there and make yourself absolutely
at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up
your strength with a little stimulant.”

“Thank you,” said my patient, “but I have felt another man since the
doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has completed the
cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so I
shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences.”

Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded expression
which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to him,
and we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor
detailed to us.

“You must know,” said he, “that I am an orphan and a bachelor, residing
alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a hydraulic engineer,
and I have had considerable experience of my work during the seven
years that I was apprenticed to Venner & Matheson, the well-known firm,
of Greenwich. Two years ago, having served my time, and having also
come into a fair sum of money through my poor father’s death, I
determined to start in business for myself and took professional
chambers in Victoria Street.

“I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business
a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so. During two
years I have had three consultations and one small job, and that is
absolutely all that my profession has brought me. My gross takings
amount to £ 27 10_s_. Every day, from nine in the morning until four in
the afternoon, I waited in my little den, until at last my heart began
to sink, and I came to believe that I should never have any practice at
all.

“Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the office, my
clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see me
upon business. He brought up a card, too, with the name of ‘Colonel
Lysander Stark’ engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the colonel
himself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding
thinness. I do not think that I have ever seen so thin a man. His whole
face sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was
drawn quite tense over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation
seemed to be his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was
bright, his step brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but
neatly dressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than
thirty.

“‘Mr. Hatherley?’ said he, with something of a German accent. ‘You have
been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man who is not only
proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable of
preserving a secret.’

“I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an
address. ‘May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?’

“‘Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just at
this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both an orphan
and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.’

“‘That is quite correct,’ I answered; ‘but you will excuse me if I say
that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional
qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter that
you wished to speak to me?’

“‘Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to the
point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute secrecy
is quite essential—absolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we
may expect that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in
the bosom of his family.’

“‘If I promise to keep a secret,’ said I, ‘you may absolutely depend
upon my doing so.’

“He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I had
never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.

“‘Do you promise, then?’ said he at last.

“‘Yes, I promise.’

“‘Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No reference
to the matter at all, either in word or writing?’

“‘I have already given you my word.’

“‘Very good.’ He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across
the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was empty.

“‘That’s all right,’ said he, coming back. ‘I know that clerks are
sometimes curious as to their master’s affairs. Now we can talk in
safety.’ He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at
me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.

“A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to
rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my
dread of losing a client could not restrain me from showing my
impatience.

“‘I beg that you will state your business, sir,’ said I; ‘my time is of
value.’ Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came to
my lips.

“‘How would fifty guineas for a night’s work suit you?’ he asked.

“‘Most admirably.’

“‘I say a night’s work, but an hour’s would be nearer the mark. I
simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which has
got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon set it
right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as that?’

“‘The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.’

“‘Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last train.’

“‘Where to?’

“‘To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders of
Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a train from
Paddington which would bring you there at about 11:15.’

“‘Very good.’

“‘I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.’

“‘There is a drive, then?’

“‘Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good seven
miles from Eyford Station.’

“‘Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there would
be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop the night.’

“‘Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.’

“‘That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient hour?’

“‘We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to recompense
you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young and
unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of
your profession. Still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the
business, there is plenty of time to do so.’

“I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they would be
to me. ‘Not at all,’ said I, ‘I shall be very happy to accommodate
myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to understand a little
more clearly what it is that you wish me to do.’

“‘Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we have
exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I have no wish to
commit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. I
suppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?’

“‘Entirely.’

“‘Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that
fuller’s-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one
or two places in England?’

“‘I have heard so.’

“‘Some little time ago I bought a small place—a very small place—within
ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to discover that there was
a deposit of fuller’s-earth in one of my fields. On examining it,
however, I found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and
that it formed a link between two very much larger ones upon the right
and left—both of them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours. These
good people were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that
which was quite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my
interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value, but
unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I took a few
of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested that we
should quietly and secretly work our own little deposit and that in
this way we should earn the money which would enable us to buy the
neighbouring fields. This we have now been doing for some time, and in
order to help us in our operations we erected a hydraulic press. This
press, as I have already explained, has got out of order, and we wish
your advice upon the subject. We guard our secret very jealously,
however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulic engineers
coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if
the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these
fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you promise
me that you will not tell a human being that you are going to Eyford
to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?’

“‘I quite follow you,’ said I. ‘The only point which I could not quite
understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in
excavating fuller’s-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out like
gravel from a pit.’

“‘Ah!’ said he carelessly, ‘we have our own process. We compress the
earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they
are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully into my
confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I trust you.’
He rose as he spoke. ‘I shall expect you, then, at Eyford at 11:15.’

“‘I shall certainly be there.’

“‘And not a word to a soul.’ He looked at me with a last long,
questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp, he
hurried from the room.

“Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very much
astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which had
been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was glad, for the
fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked had I set a price
upon my own services, and it was possible that this order might lead to
other ones. On the other hand, the face and manner of my patron had
made an unpleasant impression upon me, and I could not think that his
explanation of the fuller’s-earth was sufficient to explain the
necessity for my coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I
should tell anyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the
winds, ate a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off,
having obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.

“At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station.
However, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I reached the
little dim-lit station after eleven o’clock. I was the only passenger
who got out there, and there was no one upon the platform save a single
sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed out through the wicket gate,
however, I found my acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow
upon the other side. Without a word he grasped my arm and hurried me
into a carriage, the door of which was standing open. He drew up the
windows on either side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as
fast as the horse could go.”

“One horse?” interjected Holmes.

“Yes, only one.”

“Did you observe the colour?”

“Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the
carriage. It was a chestnut.”

“Tired-looking or fresh?”

“Oh, fresh and glossy.”

“Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue your most
interesting statement.”

“Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel Lysander
Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I should think, from
the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time that we took, that it
must have been nearer twelve. He sat at my side in silence all the
time, and I was aware, more than once when I glanced in his direction,
that he was looking at me with great intensity. The country roads seem
to be not very good in that part of the world, for we lurched and
jolted terribly. I tried to look out of the windows to see something of
where we were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make
out nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and
then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the journey, but
the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the conversation soon
flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for
the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to a
stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang out, and, as I followed after him,
pulled me swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us. We stepped,
as it were, right out of the carriage and into the hall, so that I
failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front of the house. The
instant that I had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily
behind us, and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage
drove away.

“It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled about
looking for matches and muttering under his breath. Suddenly a door
opened at the other end of the passage, and a long, golden bar of light
shot out in our direction. It grew broader, and a woman appeared with a
lamp in her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face
forward and peering at us. I could see that she was pretty, and from
the gloss with which the light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it
was a rich material. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a
tone as though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a
gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from
her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear,
and then, pushing her back into the room from whence she had come, he
walked towards me again with the lamp in his hand.

“‘Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few
minutes,’ said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet, little,
plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre, on which
several German books were scattered. Colonel Stark laid down the lamp
on the top of a harmonium beside the door. ‘I shall not keep you
waiting an instant,’ said he, and vanished into the darkness.

“I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of
German I could see that two of them were treatises on science, the
others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked across to the window,
hoping that I might catch some glimpse of the country-side, but an oak
shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it. It was a wonderfully
silent house. There was an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the
passage, but otherwise everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of
uneasiness began to steal over me. Who were these German people, and
what were they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And
where was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was all I
knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no idea. For that
matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns, were within that
radius, so the place might not be so secluded, after all. Yet it was
quite certain, from the absolute stillness, that we were in the
country. I paced up and down the room, humming a tune under my breath
to keep up my spirits and feeling that I was thoroughly earning my
fifty-guinea fee.

“Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utter
stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman was
standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the
yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. I
could see at a glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a
chill to my own heart. She held up one shaking finger to warn me to be
silent, and she shot a few whispered words of broken English at me, her
eyes glancing back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom
behind her.

“‘I would go,’ said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to speak
calmly; ‘I would go. I should not stay here. There is no good for you
to do.’

“‘But, madam,’ said I, ‘I have not yet done what I came for. I cannot
possibly leave until I have seen the machine.’

“‘It is not worth your while to wait,’ she went on. ‘You can pass
through the door; no one hinders.’ And then, seeing that I smiled and
shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step
forward, with her hands wrung together. ‘For the love of Heaven!’ she
whispered, ‘get away from here before it is too late!’

“But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to engage
in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I thought of my
fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasant night
which seemed to be before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Why should
I slink away without having carried out my commission, and without the
payment which was my due? This woman might, for all I knew, be a
monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had
shaken me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my head and
declared my intention of remaining where I was. She was about to renew
her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several
footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw
up her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as
noiselessly as she had come.

“The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man with a
chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, who was
introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.

“‘This is my secretary and manager,’ said the colonel. ‘By the way, I
was under the impression that I left this door shut just now. I fear
that you have felt the draught.’

“‘On the contrary,’ said I, ‘I opened the door myself because I felt
the room to be a little close.’

“He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. ‘Perhaps we had better
proceed to business, then,’ said he. ‘Mr. Ferguson and I will take you
up to see the machine.’

“‘I had better put my hat on, I suppose.’

“‘Oh, no, it is in the house.’

“‘What, you dig fuller’s-earth in the house?’

“‘No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that. All
we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what is
wrong with it.’

“We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat
manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with
corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors,
the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had
crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above
the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the
damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put
on as unconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the
warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen
eye upon my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent
man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at least
a fellow-countryman.

“Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which he
unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three of us
could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the
colonel ushered me in.

“‘We are now,’ said he, ‘actually within the hydraulic press, and it
would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn
it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the
descending piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon
this metal floor. There are small lateral columns of water outside
which receive the force, and which transmit and multiply it in the
manner which is familiar to you. The machine goes readily enough, but
there is some stiffness in the working of it, and it has lost a little
of its force. Perhaps you will have the goodness to look it over and to
show us how we can set it right.’

“I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very thoroughly.
It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous
pressure. When I passed outside, however, and pressed down the levers
which controlled it, I knew at once by the whishing sound that there
was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through
one of the side cylinders. An examination showed that one of the
india-rubber bands which was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk
so as not quite to fill the socket along which it worked. This was
clearly the cause of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my
companions, who followed my remarks very carefully and asked several
practical questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When
I had made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the
machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity. It was
obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller’s-earth was the merest
fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful an
engine could be designed for so inadequate a purpose. The walls were of
wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough, and when I came
to examine it I could see a crust of metallic deposit all over it. I
had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly what it was when I
heard a muttered exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of
the colonel looking down at me.

“‘What are you doing there?’ he asked.

“I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that
which he had told me. ‘I was admiring your fuller’s-earth,’ said I; ‘I
think that I should be better able to advise you as to your machine if
I knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used.’

“The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of my
speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey
eyes.

“‘Very well,’ said he, ‘you shall know all about the machine.’ He took
a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the
lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite
secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and shoves. ‘Hullo!’
I yelled. ‘Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!’

“And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my heart
into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish of the
leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp still stood
upon the floor where I had placed it when examining the trough. By its
light I saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly,
jerkily, but, as none knew better than myself, with a force which must
within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp. I threw myself,
screaming, against the door, and dragged with my nails at the lock. I
implored the colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the
levers drowned my cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my
head, and with my hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface.
Then it flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend
very much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my face the
weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to think of that
dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and yet, had I the nerve
to lie and look up at that deadly black shadow wavering down upon me?
Already I was unable to stand erect, when my eye caught something which
brought a gush of hope back to my heart.

“I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls
were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a thin line
of yellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and
broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For an instant I could
hardly believe that here was indeed a door which led away from death.
The next instant I threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the
other side. The panel had closed again behind me, but the crash of the
lamp, and a few moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal,
told me how narrow had been my escape.

“I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and I
found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a
woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held
a candle in her right. It was the same good friend whose warning I had
so foolishly rejected.

“‘Come! come!’ she cried breathlessly. ‘They will be here in a moment.
They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste the so-precious
time, but come!’

“This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to my
feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding stair. The
latter led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard
the sound of running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering
the other from the floor on which  we were and from the one beneath. My
guide stopped and looked about her like one  who is at her wit’s end.
Then she threw open a door which led into a bedroom, through the window
of which the moon was shining brightly.

“‘It is your only chance,’ said she. ‘It is high, but it may be that
you can jump it.’

“As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the
passage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark rushing
forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a butcher’s
cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom, flung open the
window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden
looked in the moonlight, and it could not be more than thirty feet
down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I hesitated to jump until I
should have heard what passed between my saviour and the ruffian who
pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at any risks I was determined to
go back to her assistance. The thought had hardly flashed through my
mind before he was at the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw
her arms round him and tried to hold him back.

“‘Fritz! Fritz!’ she cried in English, ‘remember your promise after the
last time. You said it should not be again. He will be silent! Oh, he
will be silent!’

“‘You are mad, Elise!’ he shouted, struggling to break away from her.
‘You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me pass, I say!’
He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with
his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to
the sill, when his blow fell. I was conscious of a dull pain, my grip
loosened, and I fell into the garden below.

“I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and
rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I understood
that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly, however, as I
ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me. I glanced down at my
hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then, for the first time, saw
that my thumb had been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my
wound. I endeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a
sudden buzzing in my ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among
the rose-bushes.

“How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been a
very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was
breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with dew,
and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. The
smarting of it recalled in an instant all the particulars of my night’s
adventure, and I sprang to my feet with the feeling that I might hardly
yet be safe from my pursuers. But to my astonishment, when I came to
look round me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. I had been
lying in an angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little
lower down was a long building, which proved, upon my approaching it,
to be the very station at which I had arrived upon the previous night.
Were it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed during
those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.

“Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning train.
There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The same porter was
on duty, I found, as had been there when I arrived. I inquired of him
whether he had ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark. The name was
strange to him. Had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for
me? No, he had not. Was there a police-station anywhere near? There was
one about three miles off.

“It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined to
wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the police. It
was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound
dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I
put the case into your hands and shall do exactly what you advise.”

We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this
extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the
shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his
cuttings.

“Here is an advertisement which will interest you,” said he. “It
appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this: ‘Lost, on
the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged twenty-six, a hydraulic
engineer. Left his lodgings at ten o’clock at night, and has not been
heard of since. Was dressed in,’ etc., etc. Ha! That represents the
last time that the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I
fancy.”

“Good heavens!” cried my patient. “Then that explains what the girl
said.”

“Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and
desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand
in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will
leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is
precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down to Scotland Yard
at once as a preliminary to starting for Eyford.”

Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together,
bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village. There were Sherlock
Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard,
a plain-clothes man, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map
of the county out upon the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing
a circle with Eyford for its centre.

“There you are,” said he. “That circle is drawn at a radius of ten
miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere near that
line. You said ten miles, I think, sir.”

“It was an hour’s good drive.”

“And you think that they brought you back all that way when you were
unconscious?”

“They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having been
lifted and conveyed somewhere.”

“What I cannot understand,” said I, “is why they should have spared you
when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the villain
was softened by the woman’s entreaties.”

“I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in my
life.”

“Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,” said Bradstreet. “Well, I have
drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk
that we are in search of are to be found.”

“I think I could lay my finger on it,” said Holmes quietly.

“Really, now!” cried the inspector, “you have formed your opinion!
Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south, for the
country is more deserted there.”

“And I say east,” said my patient.

“I am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “There are several
quiet little villages up there.”

“And I am for north,” said I, “because there are no hills there, and
our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.”

“Come,” cried the inspector, laughing; “it’s a very pretty diversity of
opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your
casting vote to?”

“You are all wrong.”

“But we can’t all be.”

“Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.” He placed his finger in the
centre of the circle. “This is where we shall find them.”

“But the twelve-mile drive?” gasped Hatherley.

“Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the horse
was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had
gone twelve miles over heavy roads?”

“Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,” observed Bradstreet thoughtfully.
“Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang.”

“None at all,” said Holmes. “They are coiners on a large scale, and
have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of
silver.”

“We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,” said the
inspector. “They have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. We
even traced them as far as Reading, but could get no farther, for they
had covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old
hands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think that we have got
them right enough.”

But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined
to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford Station we
saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small
clump of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich
feather over the landscape.

“A house on fire?” asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on
its way.

“Yes, sir!” said the station-master.

“When did it break out?”

“I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and
the whole place is in a blaze.”

“Whose house is it?”

“Dr. Becher’s.”

“Tell me,” broke in the engineer, “is Dr. Becher a German, very thin,
with a long, sharp nose?”

The station-master laughed heartily. “No, sir, Dr. Becher is an
Englishman, and there isn’t a man in the parish who has a better-lined
waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as I
understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good
Berkshire beef would do him no harm.”

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all
hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and
there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us,
spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front
three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.

“That’s it!” cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. “There is the
gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second
window is the one that I jumped from.”

“Well, at least,” said Holmes, “you have had your revenge upon them.
There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was
crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt
they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time.
Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night,
though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now.”

And Holmes’ fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no
word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister
German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had met
a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving
rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of the
fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes’ ingenuity failed ever to
discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which
they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed
human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About sunset,
however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the
flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been
reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and
iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our
unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin
were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found,
which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have
been already referred to.

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the
spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a
mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain
tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom
had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the
whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold
or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear
the unconscious man out of the way of danger.

“Well,” said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once
more to London, “it has been a pretty business for me! I have lost my
thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I gained?”

“Experience,” said Holmes, laughing. “Indirectly it may be of value,
you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of
being excellent company for the remainder of your existence.”



X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR

The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long
ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which
the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and
their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this
four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the
full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my
friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter
up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little
sketch of this remarkable episode.

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was
still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home from
an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I
had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn
to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the jezail bullet which I had
brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign
throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my
legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers
until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all
aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the
envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend’s noble
correspondent could be.

“Here is a very fashionable epistle,” I remarked as he entered. “Your
morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a
tide-waiter.”

“Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,” he
answered, smiling, “and the humbler are usually the more interesting.
This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon
a man either to be bored or to lie.”

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

“Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.”

“Not social, then?”

“No, distinctly professional.”

“And from a noble client?”

“One of the highest in England.”

“My dear fellow, I congratulate you.”

“I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my
client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case.
It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this
new investigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late,
have you not?”

“It looks like it,” said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the
corner. “I have had nothing else to do.”

“It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read
nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is
always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely
you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?”

“Oh, yes, with the deepest interest.”

“That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St.
Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these
papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what he
says:

    “‘MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—Lord Backwater tells me that I may
    place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have
    determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in
    reference to the very painful event which has occurred in
    connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is
    acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no
    objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that it
    might be of some assistance. I will call at four o’clock in the
    afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time,
    I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount
    importance. Yours faithfully,


    “‘ROBERT ST. SIMON.’


“It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the
noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer
side of his right little finger,” remarked Holmes as he folded up the
epistle.

“He says four o’clock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour.”

“Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the
subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order
of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is.” He picked a
red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the
mantelpiece. “Here he is,” said he, sitting down and flattening it out
upon his knee. “‘Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second son
of the Duke of Balmoral.’ Hum! ‘Arms: Azure, three caltrops in chief
over a fess sable. Born in 1846.’ He’s forty-one years of age, which is
mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late
administration. The Duke, his father, was at one time Secretary for
Foreign Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and
Tudor on the distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive
in all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something more
solid.”

“I have very little difficulty in finding what I want,” said I, “for
the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I
feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an inquiry
on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters.”

“Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture van.
That is quite cleared up now—though, indeed, it was obvious from the
first. Pray give me the results of your newspaper selections.”

“Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal
column of the _Morning Post_, and dates, as you see, some weeks back:
‘A marriage has been arranged,’ it says, ‘and will, if rumour is
correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert St. Simon, second
son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, the only daughter of
Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.’ That is all.”

“Terse and to the point,” remarked Holmes, stretching his long, thin
legs towards the fire.

“There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of
the same week. Ah, here it is: ‘There will soon be a call for
protection in the marriage  market, for the present free-trade
principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. One by one
the management of the noble houses of Great Britain is passing into the
hands of our fair cousins from across the Atlantic. An important
addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes
which have been borne away by these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon,
who has shown himself for over twenty years proof against the little
god’s arrows, has now definitely announced his approaching marriage
with Miss Hatty Doran, the fascinating daughter of a California
millionaire. Miss Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face
attracted much attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only
child, and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to
considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. As
it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to
sell his pictures within the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has
no property of his own save the small estate of Birchmoor, it is
obvious that the Californian heiress is not the only gainer by an
alliance which will enable her to make the easy and common transition
from a Republican lady to a British peeress.’”

“Anything else?” asked Holmes, yawning.

“Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the _Morning Post_ to
say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would
be at St. George’s, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate
friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the
furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been taken by Mr. Aloysius
Doran. Two days later—that is, on Wednesday last—there is a curt
announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon
would be passed at Lord Backwater’s place, near Petersfield. Those are
all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride.”

“Before the what?” asked Holmes with a start.

“The vanishing of the lady.”

“When did she vanish, then?”

“At the wedding breakfast.”

“Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite
dramatic, in fact.”

“Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common.”

“They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the
honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this.
Pray let me have the details.”

“I warn you that they are very incomplete.”

“Perhaps we may make them less so.”

“Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning
paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, ‘Singular
Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding’:

“‘The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the greatest
consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken
place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as shortly
announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning;
but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange
rumours which have been so persistently floating about. In spite of the
attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention
has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by
affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation.

“‘The ceremony, which was performed at St. George’s, Hanover Square,
was a very quiet one, no one being present save the father of the
bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater,
Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the younger brother and sister
of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia Whittington. The whole party
proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster
Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. It appears that some little
trouble was caused by a woman, whose name has not been ascertained, who
endeavoured to force her way into the house after the bridal party,
alleging that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after
a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler and
the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house before
this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest,
when she complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room.
Her prolonged absence having caused some comment, her father followed
her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to her chamber
for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the
passage. One of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the
house thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his
mistress, believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that
his daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with
the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the
police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which will
probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business.
Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the
whereabouts of the missing lady. There are rumours of foul play in the
matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the
woman who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from
jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in the
strange disappearance of the bride.’”

“And is that all?”

“Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a
suggestive one.”

“And it is—”

“That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has
actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a _danseuse_
at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years.
There are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands
now—so far as it has been set forth in the public press.”

“And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have
missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as
the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this
will prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I
very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own
memory.”

“Lord Robert St. Simon,” announced our page-boy, throwing open the
door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed
and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with
the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever
been to command and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his
general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight
forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair,
too, as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the
edges and thin upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the
verge of foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white
waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured
gaiters. He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left
to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden
eyeglasses.

“Good-day, Lord St. Simon,” said Holmes, rising and bowing. “Pray take
the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Draw up
a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.”

“A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr.
Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have
already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I
presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.”

“No, I am descending.”

“I beg pardon.”

“My last client of the sort was a king.”

“Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?”

“The King of Scandinavia.”

“What! Had he lost his wife?”

“You can understand,” said Holmes suavely, “that I extend to the
affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to you in
yours.”

“Of course! Very right! very right! I’m sure I beg pardon. As to my own
case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in
forming an opinion.”

“Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public prints,
nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct—this article, for
example, as to the disappearance of the bride.”

Lord St. Simon glanced over it. “Yes, it is correct, as far as it
goes.”

“But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer
an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by
questioning you.”

“Pray do so.”

“When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?”

“In San Francisco, a year ago.”

“You were travelling in the States?”

“Yes.”

“Did you become engaged then?”

“No.”

“But you were on a friendly footing?”

“I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused.”

“Her father is very rich?”

“He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope.”

“And how did he make his money?”

“In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold,
invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds.”

“Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady’s—your wife’s
character?”

The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the
fire. “You see, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “my wife was twenty before her
father became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining
camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has
come from Nature rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we call
in England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by
any sort of traditions. She is impetuous—volcanic, I was about to say.
She is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her
resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the name
which I have the honour to bear”—he gave a little stately cough—“had I
not thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is
capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would
be repugnant to her.”

“Have you her photograph?”

“I brought this with me.” He opened a locket and showed us the full
face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an ivory
miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the
lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth.
Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and
handed it back to Lord St. Simon.

“The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your
acquaintance?”

“Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I met
her several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her.”

“She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?”

“A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family.”

“And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a _fait
accompli_?”

“I really have made no inquiries on the subject.”

“Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the
wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Was she in good spirits?”

“Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our future
lives.”

“Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the wedding?”

“She was as bright as possible—at least until after the ceremony.”

“And did you observe any change in her then?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had ever
seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident however, was
too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case.”

“Pray let us have it, for all that.”

“Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards the
vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over
into the pew. There was a moment’s delay, but the gentleman in the pew
handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worse for
the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of the matter, she answered me
abruptly; and in the carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly
agitated over this trifling cause.”

“Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of the
general public were present, then?”

“Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is open.”

“This gentleman was not one of your wife’s friends?”

“No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a
common-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But really I
think that we are wandering rather far from the point.”

“Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less cheerful
frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do on re-entering
her father’s house?”

“I saw her in conversation with her maid.”

“And who is her maid?”

“Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California with
her.”

“A confidential servant?”

“A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to
take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they look upon these
things in a different way.”

“How long did she speak to this Alice?”

“Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of.”

“You did not overhear what they said?”

“Lady St. Simon said something about ‘jumping a claim.’ She was
accustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant.”

“American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wife do
when she finished speaking to her maid?”

“She walked into the breakfast-room.”

“On your arm?”

“No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that. Then,
after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly,
muttered some words of apology, and left the room. She never came
back.”

“But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to her
room, covered her bride’s dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet,
and went out.”

“Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in
company with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who had
already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran’s house that morning.”

“Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and
your relations to her.”

Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. “We have
been on a friendly footing for some years—I may say on a _very_
friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated her
ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but
you know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, but
exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me
dreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and, to
tell the truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly
was that I feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came
to Mr. Doran’s door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push
her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even
threatening her, but I had foreseen the possibility of something of the
sort, and I had two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon
pushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good
in making a row.”

“Did your wife hear all this?”

“No, thank goodness, she did not.”

“And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?”

“Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as so
serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some
terrible trap for her.”

“Well, it is a possible supposition.”

“You think so, too?”

“I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon this
as likely?”

“I do not think Flora would hurt a fly.”

“Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray what is
your own theory as to what took place?”

“Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I have
given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it
has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the
consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the
effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife.”

“In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?”

“Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back—I will not
say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without
success—I can hardly explain it in any other fashion.”

“Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis,” said Holmes,
smiling. “And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all my
data. May I ask whether you were seated at the breakfast-table so that
you could see out of the window?”

“We could see the other side of the road and the Park.”

“Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer. I
shall communicate with you.”

“Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem,” said our
client, rising.

“I have solved it.”

“Eh? What was that?”

“I say that I have solved it.”

“Where, then, is my wife?”

“That is a detail which I shall speedily supply.”

Lord St. Simon shook his head. “I am afraid that it will take wiser
heads than yours or mine,” he remarked, and bowing in a stately,
old-fashioned manner he departed.

“It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting it on a
level with his own,” said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. “I think that I
shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this
cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the case before
our client came into the room.”

“My dear Holmes!”

“I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I remarked
before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination served to turn
my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial evidence is occasionally
very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote
Thoreau’s example.”

“But I have heard all that you have heard.”

“Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which serves me
so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some years back, and
something on very much the same lines at Munich the year after the
Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these cases—but, hullo, here is
Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra tumbler upon
the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box.”

The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which
gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas
bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seated himself and lit the
cigar which had been offered to him.

“What’s up, then?” asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. “You look
dissatisfied.”

“And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage case.
I can make neither head nor tail of the business.”

“Really! You surprise me.”

“Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip
through my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day.”

“And very wet it seems to have made you,” said Holmes laying his hand
upon the arm of the pea-jacket.

“Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.”

“In Heaven’s name, what for?”

“In search of the body of Lady St. Simon.”

Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

“Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?” he asked.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one
as in the other.”

Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. “I suppose you know all
about it,” he snarled.

“Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.”

“Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in the
matter?”

“I think it very unlikely.”

“Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in
it?” He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a
wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a
bride’s wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. “There,”
said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. “There is
a little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes.”

“Oh, indeed!” said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. “You
dragged them from the Serpentine?”

“No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. They
have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the
clothes were there the body would not be far off.”

“By the same brilliant reasoning, every man’s body is to be found in
the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive
at through this?”

“At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.”

“I am afraid that you will find it difficult.”

“Are you, indeed, now?” cried Lestrade with some bitterness. “I am
afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions
and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes.
This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.”

“And how?”

“In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the
card-case is a note. And here is the very note.” He slapped it down
upon the table in front of him. “Listen to this: ‘You will see me when
all is ready. Come at once. F. H. M.’ Now my theory all along has been
that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she,
with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance.
Here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt
quietly slipped into her hand at the door and which lured her within
their reach.”

“Very good, Lestrade,” said Holmes, laughing. “You really are very fine
indeed. Let me see it.” He took up the paper in a listless way, but his
attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of
satisfaction. “This is indeed important,” said he.

“Ha! you find it so?”

“Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.”

Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. “Why,” he
shrieked, “you’re looking at the wrong side!”

“On the contrary, this is the right side.”

“The right side? You’re mad! Here is the note written in pencil over
here.”

“And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill,
which interests me deeply.”

“There’s nothing in it. I looked at it before,” said Lestrade. “‘Oct.
4th, rooms 8_s_., breakfast 2_s_. 6_d_., cocktail 1_s_., lunch 2_s_.
6_d_., glass sherry, 8_d_.’ I see nothing in that.”

“Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the note,
it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate
you again.”

“I’ve wasted time enough,” said Lestrade, rising. “I believe in hard
work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good-day,
Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter
first.” He gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made
for the door.

“Just one hint to you, Lestrade,” drawled Holmes before his rival
vanished; “I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St.
Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such
person.”

Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his
forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away.

He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on his
overcoat. “There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor
work,” he remarked, “so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your
papers for a little.”

It was after five o’clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no
time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner’s
man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a
youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great
astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out
upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of
cold woodcock, a pheasant, a _pâté de foie gras_ pie with a group of
ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my
two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with
no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered
to this address.

Just before nine o’clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room.
His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which
made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions.

“They have laid the supper, then,” he said, rubbing his hands.

“You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.”

“Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,” said he. “I am
surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that
I hear his step now upon the stairs.”

It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in,
dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very
perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.

“My messenger reached you, then?” asked Holmes.

“Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have
you good authority for what you say?”

“The best possible.”

Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.

“What will the Duke say,” he murmured, “when he hears that one of the
family has been subjected to such humiliation?”

“It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any
humiliation.”

“Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint.”

“I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady
could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was
undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise
her at such a crisis.”

“It was a slight, sir, a public slight,” said Lord St. Simon, tapping
his fingers upon the table.

“You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented
a position.”

“I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have been
shamefully used.”

“I think that I heard a ring,” said Holmes. “Yes, there are steps on
the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the
matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here who may be more
successful.” He opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman.
“Lord St. Simon,” said he “allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs.
Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I think, you have already met.”

At the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his seat and
stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the
breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. The lady had
taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he
still refused to raise his eyes. It was as well for his resolution,
perhaps, for her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist.

“You’re angry, Robert,” said she. “Well, I guess you have every cause
to be.”

“Pray make no apology to me,” said Lord St. Simon bitterly.

“Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that I should
have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of rattled, and from
the time when I saw Frank here again I just didn’t know what I was
doing or saying. I only wonder I didn’t fall down and do a faint right
there before the altar.”

“Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave the
room while you explain this matter?”

“If I may give an opinion,” remarked the strange gentleman, “we’ve had
just a little too much secrecy over this business already. For my part,
I should like all Europe and America to hear the rights of it.” He was
a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert
manner.

“Then I’ll tell our story right away,” said the lady. “Frank here and I
met in ’84, in McQuire’s camp, near the Rockies, where Pa was working a
claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I; but then one day
father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank here had
a claim that petered out and came to nothing. The richer Pa grew the
poorer was Frank; so at last Pa wouldn’t hear of our engagement lasting
any longer, and he took me away to ’Frisco. Frank wouldn’t throw up his
hand, though; so he followed me there, and he saw me without Pa knowing
anything about it. It would only have made him mad to know, so we just
fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and make his
pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had as much as Pa.
So then I promised to wait for him to the end of time and pledged
myself not to marry anyone else while he lived. ‘Why shouldn’t we be
married right away, then,’ said he, ‘and then I will feel sure of you;
and I won’t claim to be your husband until I come back?’ Well, we
talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman
all ready in waiting, that we just did it right there; and then Frank
went off to seek his fortune, and I went back to Pa.

“The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then he went
prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New Mexico. After
that came a long newspaper story about how a miners’ camp had been
attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank’s name among the
killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. Pa
thought I had a decline and took me to half the doctors in ’Frisco. Not
a word of news came for a year and more, so that I never doubted that
Frank was really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to ’Frisco, and we came
to London, and a marriage was arranged, and Pa was very pleased, but I
felt all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place
in my heart that had been given to my poor Frank.

“Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I’d have done my
duty by him. We can’t command our love, but we can our actions. I went
to the altar with him with the intention to make him just as good a
wife as it was in me to be. But you may imagine what I felt when, just
as I came to the altar rails, I glanced back and saw Frank standing and
looking at me out of the first pew. I thought it was his ghost at
first; but when I looked again there he was still, with a kind of
question in his eyes, as if to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to
see him. I wonder I didn’t drop. I know that everything was turning
round, and the words of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee
in my ear. I didn’t know what to do. Should I stop the service and make
a scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to know
what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to tell me to
be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew that
he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on the way out I dropped
my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he
returned me the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join him when
he made the sign to me to do so. Of course I never doubted for a moment
that my first duty was now to him, and I determined to do just whatever
he might direct.

“When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California, and
had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but to get a
few things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to have spoken to
Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all
those great people. I just made up my mind to run away and explain
afterwards. I hadn’t been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank
out of the window at the other side of the road. He beckoned to me and
then began walking into the Park. I slipped out, put on my things, and
followed him. Some woman came talking something or other about Lord St.
Simon to me—seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little
secret of his own before marriage also—but I managed to get away from
her and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and away we
drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and that was my
true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank had been a
prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to ’Frisco, found that
I had given him up for dead and had gone to England, followed me there,
and had come upon me at last on the very morning of my second wedding.”

“I saw it in a paper,” explained the American. “It gave the name and
the church but not where the lady lived.”

“Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all for
openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should
like to vanish away and never see any of them again—just sending a line
to Pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It was awful to me to
think of all those lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast-table
and waiting for me to come back. So Frank took my wedding-clothes and
things and made a bundle of them, so that I should not be traced, and
dropped them away somewhere where no one could find them. It is likely
that we should have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good
gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how he
found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very clearly and
kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and that we should be
putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so secret. Then he offered to
give us a chance of talking to Lord St. Simon alone, and so we came
right away round to his rooms at once. Now, Robert, you have heard it
all, and I am very sorry if I have given you pain, and I hope that you
do not think very meanly of me.”

Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had
listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long
narrative.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but it is not my custom to discuss my most
intimate personal affairs in this public manner.”

“Then you won’t forgive me? You won’t shake hands before I go?”

“Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.” He put out his hand
and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.

“I had hoped,” suggested Holmes, “that you would have joined us in a
friendly supper.”

“I think that there you ask a little too much,” responded his Lordship.
“I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can
hardly be expected to make merry over them. I think that with your
permission I will now wish you all a very good-night.” He included us
all in a sweeping bow and stalked out of the room.

“Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your company,” said
Sherlock Holmes. “It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Moulton,
for I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the
blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our
children from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country
under a flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack with the
Stars and Stripes.”

“The case has been an interesting one,” remarked Holmes when our
visitors had left us, “because it serves to show very clearly how
simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems
to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural than the
sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than
the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr. Lestrade of Scotland
Yard.”

“You were not yourself at fault at all, then?”

“From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the
lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other
that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home.
Obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her
to change her mind. What could that something be? She could not have
spoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of
the bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If she had, it must be
someone from America because she had spent so short a time in this
country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an
influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to
change her plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a
process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an American.
Then who could this American be, and why should he possess so much
influence over her? It might be a lover; it might be a husband. Her
young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and under
strange conditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St.
Simon’s narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in
the bride’s manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as
the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and
of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping—which in miners’
parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a
prior claim to—the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had
gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous
husband—the chances being in favour of the latter.”

“And how in the world did you find them?”

“It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in
his hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initials
were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was
it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the
most select London hotels.”

“How did you deduce the select?”

“By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a
glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are
not many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which I
visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the
book that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the
day before, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon
the very items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were
to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being
fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give
them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be
better in every way that they should make their position a little
clearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular.
I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the
appointment.”

“But with no very good result,” I remarked. “His conduct was certainly
not very gracious.”

“Ah, Watson,” said Holmes, smiling, “perhaps you would not be very
gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you
found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think
that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars
that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw
your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still
to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”



XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET

“Holmes,” said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down
the street, “here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that
his relatives should allow him to come out alone.”

My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the
pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a
bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day before still
lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down
the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly
band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of
the footpaths it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey pavement
had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so
that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction
of the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman
whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.

He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a
massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed
in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat
brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were
in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he was
running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives
who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he
jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face
into the most extraordinary contortions.

“What on earth can be the matter with him?” I asked. “He is looking up
at the numbers of the houses.”

“I believe that he is coming here,” said Holmes, rubbing his hands.

“Here?”

“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think
that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?” As he spoke,
the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell
until the whole house resounded with the clanging.

A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still
gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his
eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For
a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked
at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his
reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against
the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away
to the centre of the room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the
easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with
him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.

“You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?” said he. “You
are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have recovered
yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into any little
problem which you may submit to me.”

The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against
his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his
lips tight, and turned his face towards us.

“No doubt you think me mad?” said he.

“I see that you have had some great trouble,” responded Holmes.

“God knows I have!—a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so
sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced,
although I am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain.
Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming
together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very
soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblest in the land may
suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair.”

“Pray compose yourself, sir,” said Holmes, “and let me have a clear
account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.”

“My name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to your ears. I
am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder & Stevenson, of
Threadneedle Street.”

The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner
in the second largest private banking concern in the City of London.
What could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens
of London to this most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until
with another effort he braced himself to tell his story.

“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “that is why I hastened here
when the police inspector suggested that I should secure your
co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and hurried
from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. That is
why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who takes very little
exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the facts before you as
shortly and yet as clearly as I can.

“It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking
business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative
investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the
number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying out
money is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We
have done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and
there are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon
the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate.

“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card
was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the
name, for it was that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you I
had better say no more than that it was a name which is a household
word all over the earth—one of the highest, noblest, most exalted names
in England. I was overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he
entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into business with the air
of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.

“‘Mr. Holder,’ said he, ‘I have been informed that you are in the habit
of advancing money.’

“‘The firm does so when the security is good.’ I answered.

“‘It is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘that I should have £
50,000 at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times
over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of business
and to carry out that business myself. In my position you can readily
understand that it is unwise to place one’s self under obligations.’

“‘For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?’ I asked.

“‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most
certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it
right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should
be paid at once.’

“‘I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own
private purse,’ said I, ‘were it not that the strain would be rather
more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the
name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must insist that,
even in your case, every businesslike precaution should be taken.’

“‘I should much prefer to have it so,’ said he, raising up a square,
black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. ‘You have
doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?’

“‘One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said I.

“‘Precisely.’ He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,
flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he
had named. ‘There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,’ said he, ‘and the
price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The lowest estimate would
put the worth of the coronet at double the sum which I have asked. I am
prepared to leave it with you as my security.’

“I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity
from it to my illustrious client.

“‘You doubt its value?’ he asked.

“‘Not at all. I only doubt—’

“‘The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest about
that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain
that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a pure matter
of form. Is the security sufficient?’

“‘Ample.’

“‘You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof of
the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I have heard
of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all
gossip upon the matter but, above all, to preserve this coronet with
every possible precaution because I need not say that a great public
scandal would be caused if any harm were to befall it. Any injury to it
would be almost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no
beryls in the world to match these, and it would be impossible to
replace them. I leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and
I shall call for it in person on Monday morning.’

“Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but,
calling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty £ 1000 notes.
When I was alone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon
the table in front of me, I could not but think with some misgivings of
the immense responsibility which it entailed upon me. There could be no
doubt that, as it was a national possession, a horrible scandal would
ensue if any misfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having
ever consented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter
the matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned once
more to my work.

“When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave so
precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers’ safes had been
forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so, how terrible
would be the position in which I should find myself! I determined,
therefore, that for the next few days I would always carry the case
backward and forward with me, so that it might never be really out of
my reach. With this intention, I called a cab and drove out to my house
at Streatham, carrying the jewel with me. I did not breathe freely
until I had taken it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my
dressing-room.

“And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to
thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep out of
the house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three maid-servants
who have been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliability
is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid,
has only been in my service a few months. She came with an excellent
character, however, and has always given me satisfaction. She is a very
pretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally hung about
the place. That is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we
believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.

“So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it will
not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an only son,
Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes—a grievous
disappointment. I have no doubt that I am myself to blame. People tell
me that I have spoiled him. Very likely I have. When my dear wife died
I felt that he was all I had to love. I could not bear to see the smile
fade even for a moment from his face. I have never denied him a wish.
Perhaps it would have been better for both of us had I been sterner,
but I meant it for the best.

“It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my
business, but he was not of a business turn. He was wild, wayward, and,
to speak the truth, I could not trust him in the handling of large sums
of money. When he was young he became a member of an aristocratic club,
and there, having charming manners, he was soon the intimate of a
number of men with long purses and expensive habits. He learned to play
heavily at cards and to squander money on the turf, until he had again
and again to come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his
allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried more than
once to break away from the dangerous company which he was keeping, but
each time the influence of his friend, Sir George Burnwell, was enough
to draw him back again.

“And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George Burnwell
should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently brought him to
my house, and I have found myself that I could hardly resist the
fascination of his manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of the world
to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, a
brilliant talker, and a man of great personal beauty. Yet when I think
of him in cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, I am
convinced from his cynical speech and the look which I have caught in
his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think,
and so, too, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman’s quick insight
into character.

“And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but when
my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world I
adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. She is
a sunbeam in my house—sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and
housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman could be.
She is my right hand. I do not know what I could do without her. In
only one matter has she ever gone against my wishes. Twice my boy has
asked her to marry him, for he loves her devotedly, but each time she
has refused him. I think that if anyone could have drawn him into the
right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might have
changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late—forever too late!

“Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and I
shall continue with my miserable story.

“When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after
dinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious
treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name of my
client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am sure, left
the room; but I cannot swear that the door was closed. Mary and Arthur
were much interested and wished to see the famous coronet, but I
thought it better not to disturb it.

“‘Where have you put it?’ asked Arthur.

“‘In my own bureau.’

“‘Well, I hope to goodness the house won’t be burgled during the
night.’ said he.

“‘It is locked up,’ I answered.

“‘Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I have
opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.’

“He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of what
he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with a very
grave face.

“‘Look here, dad,’ said he with his eyes cast down, ‘can you let me
have £ 200?’

“‘No, I cannot!’ I answered sharply. ‘I have been far too generous with
you in money matters.’

“‘You have been very kind,’ said he, ‘but I must have this money, or
else I can never show my face inside the club again.’

“‘And a very good thing, too!’ I cried.

“‘Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,’ said he.
‘I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money in some way, and
if you will not let me have it, then I must try other means.’

“I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the month. ‘You
shall not have a farthing from me,’ I cried, on which he bowed and left
the room without another word.

“When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasure was
safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go round the house to see
that all was secure—a duty which I usually leave to Mary but which I
thought it well to perform myself that night. As I came down the stairs
I saw Mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed and
fastened as I approached.

“‘Tell me, dad,’ said she, looking, I thought, a little disturbed, ‘did
you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?’

“‘Certainly not.’

“‘She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she has
only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that it is
hardly safe and should be stopped.’

“‘You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer it. Are
you sure that everything is fastened?’

“‘Quite sure, dad.’

“‘Then, good-night.’ I kissed her and went up to my bedroom again,
where I was soon asleep.

“I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may have
any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question me upon any
point which I do not make clear.”

“On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid.”

“I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be
particularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my
mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. About two in
the morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in the house. It had
ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left an impression behind it as
though a window had gently closed somewhere. I lay listening with all
my ears. Suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct sound of
footsteps moving softly in the next room. I slipped out of bed, all
palpitating with fear, and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room
door.

“‘Arthur!’ I screamed, ‘you villain! you thief! How dare you touch that
coronet?’

“The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressed
only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding
the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending
it with all his strength. At my cry he dropped it from his grasp and
turned as pale as death. I snatched it up and examined it. One of the
gold corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing.

“‘You blackguard!’ I shouted, beside myself with rage. ‘You have
destroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewels
which you have stolen?’

“‘Stolen!’ he cried.

“‘Yes, thief!’ I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.

“‘There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,’ said he.

“‘There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I call you
a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to tear off another
piece?’

“‘You have called me names enough,’ said he, ‘I will not stand it any
longer. I shall not say another word about this business, since you
have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in the morning and
make my own way in the world.’

“‘You shall leave it in the hands of the police!’ I cried half-mad with
grief and rage. ‘I shall have this matter probed to the bottom.’

“‘You shall learn nothing from me,’ said he with a passion such as I
should not have thought was in his nature. ‘If you choose to call the
police, let the police find what they can.’

“By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my voice in
my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of
the coronet and of Arthur’s face, she read the whole story and, with a
scream, fell down senseless on the ground. I sent the housemaid for the
police and put the investigation into their hands at once. When the
inspector and a constable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood
sullenly with his arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to
charge him with theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private
matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was
national property. I was determined that the law should have its way in
everything.

“‘At least,’ said he, ‘you will not have me arrested at once. It would
be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the house for
five minutes.’

“‘That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you have
stolen,’ said I. And then, realising the dreadful position in which I
was placed, I implored him to remember that not only my honour but that
of one who was far greater than I was at stake; and that he threatened
to raise a scandal which would convulse the nation. He might avert it
all if he would but tell me what he had done with the three missing
stones.

“‘You may as well face the matter,’ said I; ‘you have been caught in
the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. If you
but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the
beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.’

“‘Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,’ he answered, turning
away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened for any words
of mine to influence him. There was but one way for it. I called in the
inspector and gave him into custody. A search was made at once not only
of his person but of his room and of every portion of the house where
he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could
be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our
persuasions and our threats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and
I, after going through all the police formalities, have hurried round
to you to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The
police have openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of
it. You may go to any expense which you think necessary. I have already
offered a reward of £ 1000. My God, what shall I do! I have lost my
honour, my gems, and my son in one night. Oh, what shall I do!”

He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to and fro,
droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted
and his eyes fixed upon the fire.

“Do you receive much company?” he asked.

“None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of
Arthur’s. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No one
else, I think.”

“Do you go out much in society?”

“Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for it.”

“That is unusual in a young girl.”

“She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She is
four-and-twenty.”

“This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her
also.”

“Terrible! She is even more affected than I.”

“You have neither of you any doubt as to your son’s guilt?”

“How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet in
his hands.”

“I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of the
coronet at all injured?”

“Yes, it was twisted.”

“Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straighten
it?”

“God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me. But it
is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If his purpose
were innocent, why did he not say so?”

“Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? His
silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several singular
points about the case. What did the police think of the noise which
awoke you from your sleep?”

“They considered that it might be caused by Arthur’s closing his
bedroom door.”

“A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as
to wake a household. What did they say, then, of the disappearance of
these gems?”

“They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the
hope of finding them.”

“Have they thought of looking outside the house?”

“Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has
already been minutely examined.”

“Now, my dear sir,” said Holmes, “is it not obvious to you now that
this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the
police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you to be a
simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider what is
involved by your theory. You suppose that your son came down from his
bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room, opened your bureau,
took out your coronet, broke off by main force a small portion of it,
went off to some other place, concealed three gems out of the
thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them, and then
returned with the other thirty-six into the room in which he exposed
himself to the greatest danger of being discovered. I ask you now, is
such a theory tenable?”

“But what other is there?” cried the banker with a gesture of despair.
“If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain them?”

“It is our task to find that out,” replied Holmes; “so now, if you
please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together, and devote
an hour to glancing a little more closely into details.”

My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which
I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply
stirred by the story to which we had listened. I confess that the guilt
of the banker’s son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his
unhappy father, but still I had such faith in Holmes’ judgment that I
felt that there must be some grounds for hope as long as he was
dissatisfied with the accepted explanation. He hardly spoke a word the
whole way out to the southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his
breast and his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought.
Our client appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of
hope which had been presented to him, and he even broke into a
desultory chat with me over his business affairs. A short railway
journey and a shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest residence
of the great financier.

Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back a
little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad lawn,
stretched down in front to two large iron gates which closed the
entrance. On the right side was a small wooden thicket, which led into
a narrow path between two neat hedges stretching from the road to the
kitchen door, and forming the tradesmen’s entrance. On the left ran a
lane which led to the stables, and was not itself within the grounds at
all, being a public, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us
standing at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the
front, down the tradesmen’s path, and so round by the garden behind
into the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I went into
the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should return. We were
sitting there in silence when the door opened and a young lady came in.
She was rather above the middle height, slim, with dark hair and eyes,
which seemed the darker against the absolute pallor of her skin. I do
not think that I have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman’s face.
Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying.
As she swept silently into the room she impressed me with a greater
sense of grief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the
more striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong character,
with immense capacity for self-restraint. Disregarding my presence, she
went straight to her uncle and passed her hand over his head with a
sweet womanly caress.

“You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you not,
dad?” she asked.

“No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom.”

“But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman’s instincts
are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorry for
having acted so harshly.”

“Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?”

“Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspect
him.”

“How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with the
coronet in his hand?”

“Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take my
word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say no more.
It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in prison!”

“I shall never let it drop until the gems are found—never, Mary! Your
affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. Far
from hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman down from London
to inquire more deeply into it.”

“This gentleman?” she asked, facing round to me.

“No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in the
stable lane now.”

“The stable lane?” She raised her dark eyebrows. “What can he hope to
find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that you will
succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth, that my cousin
Arthur is innocent of this crime.”

“I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may prove
it,” returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow from his
shoes. “I believe I have the honour of addressing Miss Mary Holder.
Might I ask you a question or two?”

“Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up.”

“You heard nothing yourself last night?”

“Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard that, and
I came down.”

“You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you fasten all
the windows?”

“Yes.”

“Were they all fastened this morning?”

“Yes.”

“You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked to
your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?”

“Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may
have heard uncle’s remarks about the coronet.”

“I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart,
and that the two may have planned the robbery.”

“But what is the good of all these vague theories,” cried the banker
impatiently, “when I have told you that I saw Arthur with the coronet
in his hands?”

“Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this girl,
Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I presume?”

“Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I met
her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom.”

“Do you know him?”

“Oh, yes! he is the greengrocer who brings our vegetables round. His
name is Francis Prosper.”

“He stood,” said Holmes, “to the left of the door—that is to say,
farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And he is a man with a wooden leg?”

Something like fear sprang up in the young lady’s expressive black
eyes. “Why, you are like a magician,” said she. “How do you know that?”
She smiled, but there was no answering smile in Holmes’ thin, eager
face.

“I should be very glad now to go upstairs,” said he. “I shall probably
wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better
take a look at the lower windows before I go up.”

He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the
large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This he
opened and made a very careful examination of the sill with his
powerful magnifying lens. “Now we shall go upstairs,” said he at last.

The banker’s dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with
a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to the
bureau first and looked hard at the lock.

“Which key was used to open it?” he asked.

“That which my son himself indicated—that of the cupboard of the
lumber-room.”

“Have you it here?”

“That is it on the dressing-table.”

Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.

“It is a noiseless lock,” said he. “It is no wonder that it did not
wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must have a
look at it.” He opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it
upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller’s art,
and the thirty-six stones were the finest that I have ever seen. At one
side of the coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding three
gems had been torn away.

“Now, Mr. Holder,” said Holmes, “here is the corner which corresponds
to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I beg that you will
break it off.”

The banker recoiled in horror. “I should not dream of trying,” said he.

“Then I will.” Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but without
result. “I feel it give a little,” said he; “but, though I am
exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my time to
break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do you think would
happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would be a noise like a
pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this happened within a few yards
of your bed and that you heard nothing of it?”

“I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me.”

“But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think, Miss
Holder?”

“I confess that I still share my uncle’s perplexity.”

“Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?”

“He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.”

“Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck
during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do not
succeed in clearing the matter up. With your permission, Mr. Holder, I
shall now continue my investigations outside.”

He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any
unnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an hour
or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow
and his features as inscrutable as ever.

“I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr. Holder,”
said he; “I can serve you best by returning to my rooms.”

“But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?”

“I cannot tell.”

The banker wrung his hands. “I shall never see them again!” he cried.
“And my son? You give me hopes?”

“My opinion is in no way altered.”

“Then, for God’s sake, what was this dark business which was acted in
my house last night?”

“If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow morning
between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to make it
clearer. I understand that you give me _carte blanche_ to act for you,
provided only that I get back the gems, and that you place no limit on
the sum I may draw.”

“I would give my fortune to have them back.”

“Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then.
Good-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over here again
before evening.”

It was obvious to me that my companion’s mind was now made up about the
case, although what his conclusions were was more than I could even
dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward journey I endeavoured
to sound him upon the point, but he always glided away to some other
topic, until at last I gave it over in despair. It was not yet three
when we found ourselves in our rooms once more. He hurried to his
chamber and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a common loafer.
With his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and
his worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class.

“I think that this should do,” said he, glancing into the glass above
the fireplace. “I only wish that you could come with me, Watson, but I
fear that it won’t do. I may be on the trail in this matter, or I may
be following a will-o’-the-wisp, but I shall soon know which it is. I
hope that I may be back in a few hours.” He cut a slice of beef from
the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of
bread, and thrusting this rude meal into his pocket he started off upon
his expedition.

I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellent
spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. He chucked it
down into a corner and helped himself to a cup of tea.

“I only looked in as I passed,” said he. “I am going right on.”

“Where to?”

“Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time before I
get back. Don’t wait up for me in case I should be late.”

“How are you getting on?”

“Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham since
I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a very sweet
little problem, and I would not have missed it for a good deal.
However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must get these disreputable
clothes off and return to my highly respectable self.”

I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfaction
than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled, and there was even
a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a
few minutes later I heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that
he was off once more upon his congenial hunt.

I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so I
retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away for
days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his
lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what hour he came in,
but when I came down to breakfast in the morning there he was with a
cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim
as possible.

“You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson,” said he, “but you
remember that our client has rather an early appointment this morning.”

“Why, it is after nine now,” I answered. “I should not be surprised if
that were he. I thought I heard a ring.”

It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the change
which had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad
and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed
to me at least a shade whiter. He entered with a weariness and lethargy
which was even more painful than his violence of the morning before,
and he dropped heavily into the armchair which I pushed forward for
him.

“I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,” said he.
“Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in
the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrow
comes close upon the heels of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted
me.”

“Deserted you?”

“Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty,
and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to her last
night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all
might have been well with him. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say
so. It is to that remark that she refers in this note:

    “‘MY DEAREST UNCLE,—I feel that I have brought trouble upon you,
    and that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune might
    never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever
    again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must leave you
    forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is provided for;
    and, above all, do not search for me, for it will be fruitless
    labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in death, I am ever
    your loving,


    “‘MARY.’


“What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it points
to suicide?”

“No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible solution.
I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles.”

“Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have learned
something! Where are the gems?”

“You would not think £ 1000 apiece an excessive sum for them?”

“I would pay ten.”

“That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter. And
there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your cheque-book? Here is a
pen. Better make it out for £ 4000.”

With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes walked
over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold with three
gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.

With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.

“You have it!” he gasped. “I am saved! I am saved!”

The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he
hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.

“There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder,” said Sherlock Holmes
rather sternly.

“Owe!” He caught up a pen. “Name the sum, and I will pay it.”

“No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that noble
lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I should be
proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to have one.”

“Then it was not Arthur who took them?”

“I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not.”

“You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him know
that the truth is known.”

“He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an interview
with him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, I told it to
him, on which he had to confess that I was right and to add the very
few details which were not yet quite clear to me. Your news of this
morning, however, may open his lips.”

“For Heaven’s sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary mystery!”

“I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached it. And
let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and
for you to hear: there has been an understanding between Sir George
Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now fled together.”

“My Mary? Impossible!”

“It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither you nor
your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into
your family circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in England—a
ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or
conscience. Your niece knew nothing of such men. When he breathed his
vows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered
herself that she alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what
he said, but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of
seeing him nearly every evening.”

“I cannot, and I will not, believe it!” cried the banker with an ashen
face.

“I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. Your
niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down
and talked to her lover through the window which leads into the stable
lane. His footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he
stood there. She told him of the coronet. His wicked lust for gold
kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. I have no doubt that
she loved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover
extinguishes all other loves, and I think that she must have been one.
She had hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming
downstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you about
one of the servants’ escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was
all perfectly true.

“Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he
slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. In the
middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose
and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin walking very
stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into your
dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped on some
clothes and waited there in the dark to see what would come of this
strange affair. Presently she emerged from the room again, and in the
light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried the precious
coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling
with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain near your door,
whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. He saw her
stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the
gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing
quite close to where he stood hid behind the curtain.

“As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a
horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the instant that she
was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for you,
and how all-important it was to set it right. He rushed down, just as
he was, in his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into the snow,
and ran down the lane, where he could see a dark figure in the
moonlight. Sir George Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught
him, and there was a struggle between them, your lad tugging at one
side of the coronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle,
your son struck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something
suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet in his
hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your room, and had
just observed that the coronet had been twisted in the struggle and was
endeavouring to straighten it when you appeared upon the scene.”

“Is it possible?” gasped the banker.

“You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he
felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not explain the
true state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved
little enough consideration at his hands. He took the more chivalrous
view, however, and preserved her secret.”

“And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet,”
cried Mr. Holder. “Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have been! And his
asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! The dear fellow wanted
to see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle. How
cruelly I have misjudged him!”

“When I arrived at the house,” continued Holmes, “I at once went very
carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow
which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since the evening
before, and also that there had been a strong frost to preserve
impressions. I passed along the tradesmen’s path, but found it all
trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it, however, at the
far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a man,
whose round impressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. I
could even tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run
back swiftly to the door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel
marks, while Wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. I
thought at the time that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of
whom you had already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I
passed round the garden without seeing anything more than random
tracks, which I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable
lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in front of
me.

“There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second double
line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. I was
at once convinced from what you had told me that the latter was your
son. The first had walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and
as his tread was marked in places over the depression of the boot, it
was obvious that he had passed after the other. I followed them up and
found they led to the hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow
away while waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred
yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round, where
the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, and, finally,
where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me that I was not
mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and another little smudge
of blood showed that it was he who had been hurt. When he came to the
highroad at the other end, I found that the pavement had been cleared,
so there was an end to that clue.

“On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the sill
and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could at once see
that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the outline of an
instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was then
beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what had occurred. A man
had waited outside the window; someone had brought the gems; the deed
had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled
with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength
causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. He had
returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his
opponent. So far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and
who was it brought him the coronet?

“It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible,
whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Now, I knew
that it was not you who had brought it down, so there only remained
your niece and the maids. But if it were the maids, why should your son
allow himself to be accused in their place? There could be no possible
reason. As he loved his cousin, however, there was an excellent
explanation why he should retain her secret—the more so as the secret
was a disgraceful one. When I remembered that you had seen her at that
window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my
conjecture became a certainty.

“And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for
who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to
you? I knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends
was a very limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had
heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It
must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems.
Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still
flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word
without compromising his own family.

“Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I
went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George’s house, managed to pick up
an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his
head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings,
made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With these I
journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the
tracks.”

“I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,” said Mr.
Holder.

“Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and
changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then,
for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I
knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the
matter. I went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied everything.
But when I gave him every particular that had occurred, he tried to
bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man,
however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike.
Then he became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give
him a price for the stones he held—£ 1000 apiece. That brought out the
first signs of grief that he had shown. ‘Why, dash it all!’ said he,
‘I’ve let them go at six hundred for the three!’ I soon managed to get
the address of the receiver who had them, on promising him that there
would be no prosecution. Off I set to him, and after much chaffering I
got our stones at £ 1000 apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told
him that all was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o’clock,
after what I may call a really hard day’s work.”

“A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,” said the
banker, rising. “Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall
not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed
exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy
to apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to what you
tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill can
inform me where she is now.”

“I think that we may safely say,” returned Holmes, “that she is
wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that
whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient
punishment.”



XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES

“To the man who loves art for its own sake,” remarked Sherlock Holmes,
tossing aside the advertisement sheet of _The Daily Telegraph_, “it is
frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the
keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is pleasant to me to observe,
Watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in these little
records of our cases which you have been good enough to draw up, and, I
am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence
not so much to the many _causes célèbres_ and sensational trials in
which I have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been
trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of
deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made my special
province.”

“And yet,” said I, smiling, “I cannot quite hold myself absolved from
the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records.”

“You have erred, perhaps,” he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with
the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont
to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a
meditative mood—“you have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour and
life into each of your statements instead of confining yourself to the
task of placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect
which is really the only notable feature about the thing.”

“It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter,” I
remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism which I
had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friend’s
singular character.

“No, it is not selfishness or conceit,” said he, answering, as was his
wont, my thoughts rather than my words. “If I claim full justice for my
art, it is because it is an impersonal thing—a thing beyond myself.
Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic rather
than upon the crime that you should dwell. You have degraded what
should have been a course of lectures into a series of tales.”

It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast
on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at Baker Street. A
thick fog rolled down between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the
opposing windows loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy
yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit and shone on the white cloth and
glimmer of china and metal, for the table had not been cleared yet.
Sherlock Holmes had been silent all the morning, dipping continuously
into the advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last,
having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet
temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.

“At the same time,” he remarked after a pause, during which he had sat
puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, “you can hardly
be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you
have been so kind as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not
treat of crime, in its legal sense, at all. The small matter in which I
endeavoured to help the King of Bohemia, the singular experience of
Miss Mary Sutherland, the problem connected with the man with the
twisted lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters
which are outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational,
I fear that you may have bordered on the trivial.”

“The end may have been so,” I answered, “but the methods I hold to have
been novel and of interest.”

“Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant
public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by
his left thumb, care about the finer shades of analysis and deduction!
But, indeed, if you are trivial, I cannot blame you, for the days of
the great cases are past. Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all
enterprise and originality. As to my own little practice, it seems to
be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and
giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I
have touched bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning
marks my zero-point, I fancy. Read it!” He tossed a crumpled letter
across to me.

It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and ran
thus:

    “DEAR MR. HOLMES,—I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I
    should or should not accept a situation which has been offered to
    me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I do
    not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully,


    “VIOLET HUNTER.”


“Do you know the young lady?” I asked.

“Not I.”

“It is half-past ten now.”

“Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring.”

“It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You remember
that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim
at first, developed into a serious investigation. It may be so in this
case, also.”

“Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved, for
here, unless I am much mistaken, is the person in question.”

As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room. She was
plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like a
plover’s egg, and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her own
way to make in the world.

“You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure,” said she, as my
companion rose to greet her, “but I have had a very strange experience,
and as I have no parents or relations of any sort from whom I could ask
advice, I thought that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what
I should do.”

“Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything that I
can to serve you.”

I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner and
speech of his new client. He looked her over in his searching fashion,
and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tips
together, to listen to her story.

“I have been a governess for five years,” said she, “in the family of
Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel received an
appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his children over to
America with him, so that I found myself without a situation. I
advertised, and I answered advertisements, but without success. At last
the little money which I had saved began to run short, and I was at my
wit’s end as to what I should do.

“There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End called
Westaway’s, and there I used to call about once a week in order to see
whether anything had turned up which might suit me. Westaway was the
name of the founder of the business, but it is really managed by Miss
Stoper. She sits in her own little office, and the ladies who are
seeking employment wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by
one, when she consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything
which would suit them.

“Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office as
usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A prodigiously stout
man with a very smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down
in fold upon fold over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of
glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered.
As I came in he gave quite a jump in his chair and turned quickly to
Miss Stoper.

“‘That will do,’ said he; ‘I could not ask for anything better.
Capital! capital!’ He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands
together in the most genial fashion. He was such a comfortable-looking
man that it was quite a pleasure to look at him.

“‘You are looking for a situation, miss?’ he asked.

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘As governess?’

“‘Yes, sir.’

“‘And what salary do you ask?’

“‘I had £ 4 a month in my last place with Colonel Spence Munro.’

“‘Oh, tut, tut! sweating—rank sweating!’ he cried, throwing his fat
hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. ‘How
could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions and
accomplishments?’

“‘My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,’ said I. ‘A
little French, a little German, music, and drawing—’

“‘Tut, tut!’ he cried. ‘This is all quite beside the question. The
point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a
lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are not fitted
for the rearing of a child who may some day play a considerable part in
the history of the country. But if you have why, then, how could any
gentleman ask you to condescend to accept anything under the three
figures? Your salary with me, madam, would commence at £ 100 a year.’

“You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was, such an
offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman, however, seeing
perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and
took out a note.

“‘It is also my custom,’ said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion
until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white
creases of his face, ‘to advance to my young ladies half their salary
beforehand, so that they may meet any little expenses of their journey
and their wardrobe.’

“It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful
a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a
great convenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the
whole transaction which made me wish to know a little more before I
quite committed myself.

“‘May I ask where you live, sir?’ said I.

“‘Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles on
the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my dear
young lady, and the dearest old country-house.’

“‘And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.’

“‘One child—one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if you could
see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack! Three
gone before you could wink!’ He leaned back in his chair and laughed
his eyes into his head again.

“I was a little startled at the nature of the child’s amusement, but
the father’s laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking.

“‘My sole duties, then,’ I asked, ‘are to take charge of a single
child?’

“‘No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,’ he cried.
‘Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would suggest, to
obey any little commands my wife might give, provided always that they
were such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. You see no
difficulty, heh?’

“‘I should be happy to make myself useful.’

“‘Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you
know—faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress which
we might give you, you would not object to our little whim. Heh?’

“‘No,’ said I, considerably astonished at his words.

“‘Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?’

“‘Oh, no.’

“‘Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?’

“I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes, my
hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut.
It has been considered artistic. I could not dream of sacrificing it in
this offhand fashion.

“‘I am afraid that that is quite impossible,’ said I. He had been
watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a shadow
pass over his face as I spoke.

“‘I am afraid that it is quite essential,’ said he. ‘It is a little
fancy of my wife’s, and ladies’ fancies, you know, madam, ladies’
fancies must be consulted. And so you won’t cut your hair?’

“‘No, sir, I really could not,’ I answered firmly.

“‘Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a pity,
because in other respects you would really have done very nicely. In
that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more of your young
ladies.’

“The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a
word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance
upon her face that I could not help suspecting that she had lost a
handsome commission through my refusal.

“‘Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?’ she asked.

“‘If you please, Miss Stoper.’

“‘Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most
excellent offers in this fashion,’ said she sharply. ‘You can hardly
expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you.
Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.’ She struck a gong upon the table, and I
was shown out by the page.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found little
enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table, I began
to ask myself whether I had not done a very foolish thing. After all,
if these people had strange fads and expected obedience on the most
extraordinary matters, they were at least ready to pay for their
eccentricity. Very few governesses in England are getting £ 100 a year.
Besides, what use was my hair to me? Many people are improved by
wearing it short and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I
was inclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after I
was sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to
the agency and inquire whether the place was still open when I received
this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it here and I will read
it to you:

“‘The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.

    “‘DEAR MISS HUNTER,—Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your
    address, and I write from here to ask you whether you have
    reconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you should
    come, for she has been much attracted by my description of you. We
    are willing to give £ 30 a quarter, or £ 120 a year, so as to
    recompense you for any little inconvenience which our fads may
    cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My wife is fond
    of a particular shade of electric blue and would like you to wear
    such a dress indoors in the morning. You need not, however, go to
    the expense of purchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear
    daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which would, I should think,
    fit you very well. Then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing
    yourself in any manner indicated, that need cause you no
    inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity,
    especially as I could not help remarking its beauty during our
    short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain firm upon this
    point, and I only hope that the increased salary may recompense you
    for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child is concerned, are
    very light. Now do try to come, and I shall meet you with the
    dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train. Yours faithfully,


    “‘JEPHRO RUCASTLE.’


“That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and my mind
is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, that before
taking the final step I should like to submit the whole matter to your
consideration.”

“Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the
question,” said Holmes, smiling.

“But you would not advise me to refuse?”

“I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to see a
sister of mine apply for.”

“What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?”

“Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formed
some opinion?”

“Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastle
seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that his
wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear
she should be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies in
every way in order to prevent an outbreak?”

“That is a possible solution—in fact, as matters stand, it is the most
probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice household
for a young lady.”

“But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!”

“Well, yes, of course the pay is good—too good. That is what makes me
uneasy. Why should they give you £ 120 a year, when they could have
their pick for £ 40? There must be some strong reason behind.”

“I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would understand
afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so much stronger if I
felt that you were at the back of me.”

“Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that your
little problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my
way for some months. There is something distinctly novel about some of
the features. If you should find yourself in doubt or in danger—”

“Danger! What danger do you foresee?”

Holmes shook his head gravely. “It would cease to be a danger if we
could define it,” said he. “But at any time, day or night, a telegram
would bring me down to your help.”

“That is enough.” She rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety all
swept from her face. “I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in my
mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair
to-night, and start for Winchester to-morrow.” With a few grateful
words to Holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon her
way.

“At least,” said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending the
stairs, “she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take
care of herself.”

“And she would need to be,” said Holmes gravely. “I am much mistaken if
we do not hear from her before many days are past.”

It was not very long before my friend’s prediction was fulfilled. A
fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts turning
in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human
experience this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual salary, the
curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something
abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a
philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to
determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat frequently for half an
hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the
matter away with a wave of his hand when I mentioned it. “Data! data!
data!” he cried impatiently. “I can’t make bricks without clay.” And
yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should
ever have accepted such a situation.

The telegram which we eventually received came late one night just as I
was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down to one of those
all-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when I
would leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and
find him in the same position when I came down to breakfast in the
morning. He opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the
message, threw it across to me.

“Just look up the trains in Bradshaw,” said he, and turned back to his
chemical studies.

The summons was a brief and urgent one.

“Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday to-morrow,”
it said. “Do come! I am at my wit’s end.


“HUNTER.”


“Will you come with me?” asked Holmes, glancing up.

“I should wish to.”

“Just look it up, then.”

“There is a train at half-past nine,” said I, glancing over my
Bradshaw. “It is due at Winchester at 11:30.”

“That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my
analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the
morning.”

By eleven o’clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old
English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the
way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw them
down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a
light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across
from west to east. The sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was
an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a man’s energy.
All over the countryside, away to the rolling hills around Aldershot,
the little red and grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from
amid the light green of the new foliage.

“Are they not fresh and beautiful?” I cried with all the enthusiasm of
a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.

But Holmes shook his head gravely.

“Do you know, Watson,” said he, “that it is one of the curses of a mind
with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to
my own special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are
impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which
comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with
which crime may be committed there.”

“Good heavens!” I cried. “Who would associate crime with these dear old
homesteads?”

“They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson,
founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London
do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and
beautiful countryside.”

“You horrify me!”

“But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do
in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile
that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard’s blow,
does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then
the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of
complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime
and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields,
filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the
law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which
may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had
this lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I
should never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of country
which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is not personally
threatened.”

“No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away.”

“Quite so. She has her freedom.”

“What _can_ be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?”

“I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover
the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is correct can
only be determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt
find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we
shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has to tell.”

The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no distance
from the station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. She
had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon the table.

“I am so delighted that you have come,” she said earnestly. “It is so
very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I should do. Your
advice will be altogether invaluable to me.”

“Pray tell us what has happened to you.”

“I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr. Rucastle to
be back before three. I got his leave to come into town this morning,
though he little knew for what purpose.”

“Let us have everything in its due order.” Holmes thrust his long thin
legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.

“In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with no
actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to
them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and I am not easy in my
mind about them.”

“What can you not understand?”

“Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just as it
occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and drove me in
his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said, beautifully
situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square
block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp
and bad weather. There are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and
on the fourth a field which slopes down to the Southampton highroad,
which curves past about a hundred yards from the front door. This
ground in front belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part
of Lord Southerton’s preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately
in front of the hall door has given its name to the place.

“I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was
introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. There was no
truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable
in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found her to
be a silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not more
than thirty, I should think, while he can hardly be less than
forty-five. From their conversation I have gathered that they have been
married about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only
child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia.
Mr. Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them
was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As the
daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that
her position must have been uncomfortable with her father’s young wife.

“Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in
feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. She was a
nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to
her husband and to her little son. Her light grey eyes wandered
continually from one to the other, noting every little want and
forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her also in his bluff,
boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple.
And yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost
in deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. More than once I
have surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the
disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never
met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is
small for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large.
His whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage
fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any
creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and
he shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice,
little birds, and insects. But I would rather not talk about the
creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my story.”

“I am glad of all details,” remarked my friend, “whether they seem to
you to be relevant or not.”

“I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasant
thing about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and
conduct of the servants. There are only two, a man and his wife.
Toller, for that is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled
hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell of drink. Twice since I have
been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to
take no notice of it. His wife is a very tall and strong woman with a
sour face, as silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a
most unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the
nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of
the building.

“For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was very
quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and
whispered something to her husband.

“‘Oh, yes,’ said he, turning to me, ‘we are very much obliged to you,
Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair.
I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your
appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become
you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you
would be so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.’

“The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of
blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore
unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not have been a
better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle
expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated
in its vehemence. They were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which
is a very large room, stretching along the entire front of the house,
with three long windows reaching down to the floor. A chair had been
placed close to the central window, with its back turned towards it. In
this I was asked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on
the other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest
stories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he
was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who
has evidently no sense of humour, never so much as smiled, but sat with
her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious look upon her face. After an
hour or so, Mr. Rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time to commence
the duties of the day, and that I might change my dress and go to
little Edward in the nursery.

“Two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly
similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I sat in the
window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which
my employer had an immense _répertoire_, and which he told inimitably.
Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a little
sideways, that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he begged me
to read aloud to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning in the
heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he
ordered me to cease and to change my dress.

“You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to what
the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. They
were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from the
window, so that I became consumed with the desire to see what was going
on behind my back. At first it seemed to be impossible, but I soon
devised a means. My hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought
seized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. On
the next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief
up to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that
there was behind me. I confess that I was disappointed. There was
nothing. At least that was my first impression. At the second glance,
however, I perceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton
Road, a small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in
my direction. The road is an important highway, and there are usually
people there. This man, however, was leaning against the railings which
bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. I lowered my
handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon
me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced
that she had divined that I had a mirror in my hand and had seen what
was behind me. She rose at once.

“‘Jephro,’ said she, ‘there is an impertinent fellow upon the road
there who stares up at Miss Hunter.’

“‘No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?’ he asked.

“‘No, I know no one in these parts.’

“‘Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to him to
go away.’

“‘Surely it would be better to take no notice.’

“‘No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn round
and wave him away like that.’

“I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew down
the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have not sat again
in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the
road.”

“Pray continue,” said Holmes. “Your narrative promises to be a most
interesting one.”

“You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may prove to
be little relation between the different incidents of which I speak. On
the very first day that I was at the Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took
me to a small outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. As we
approached it I heard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as
of a large animal moving about.

“‘Look in here!’ said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two
planks. ‘Is he not a beauty?’

“I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a vague
figure huddled up in the darkness.

“‘Don’t be frightened,’ said my employer, laughing at the start which I
had given. ‘It’s only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really
old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. We
feed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as
keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose every night, and God help the
trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. For goodness’ sake don’t you
ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it’s
as much as your life is worth.’

“The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to look
out of my bedroom window about two o’clock in the morning. It was a
beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was
silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in the
peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was aware that something was
moving under the shadow of the copper beeches. As it emerged into the
moonshine I saw what it was. It was a giant dog, as large as a calf,
tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting
bones. It walked slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow
upon the other side. That dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart
which I do not think that any burglar could have done.

“And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as you
know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a great coil at
the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child was in bed, I
began to amuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by
rearranging my own little things. There was an old chest of drawers in
the room, the two upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked. I
had filled the first two with my linen, and as I had still much to pack
away I was naturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer.
It struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so I
took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very first key
fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There was only one
thing in it, but I am sure that you would never guess what it was. It
was my coil of hair.

“I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint, and
the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing obtruded
itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in the drawer? With
trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and drew
from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two tresses together, and I
assure you that they were identical. Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle
as I would, I could make nothing at all of what it meant. I returned
the strange hair to the drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the
Rucastles as I felt that I had put myself in the wrong by opening a
drawer which they had locked.

“I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes, and I
soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. There was
one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A door
which faced that which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened into
this suite, but it was invariably locked. One day, however, as I
ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle coming out through this door,
his keys in his hand, and a look on his face which made him a very
different person to the round, jovial man to whom I was accustomed. His
cheeks were red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins
stood out at his temples with passion. He locked the door and hurried
past me without a word or a look.

“This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the
grounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I could
see the windows of this part of the house. There were four of them in a
row, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered
up. They were evidently all deserted. As I strolled up and down,
glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came out to me, looking as
merry and jovial as ever.

“‘Ah!’ said he, ‘you must not think me rude if I passed you without a
word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.’

“I assured him that I was not offended. ‘By the way,’ said I, ‘you seem
to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has the
shutters up.’

“He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my
remark.

“‘Photography is one of my hobbies,’ said he. ‘I have made my dark room
up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon.
Who would have believed it? Who would have ever believed it?’ He spoke
in a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at
me. I read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there was
something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was all
on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity, though I have my
share of that. It was more a feeling of duty—a feeling that some good
might come from my penetrating to this place. They talk of woman’s
instinct; perhaps it was woman’s instinct which gave me that feeling.
At any rate, it was there, and I was keenly on the lookout for any
chance to pass the forbidden door.

“It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that,
besides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to do in
these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large black linen
bag with him through the door. Recently he has been drinking hard, and
yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when I came upstairs there was
the key in the door. I have no doubt at all that he had left it there.
Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was with
them, so that I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key gently
in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through.

“There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted,
which turned at a right angle at the farther end. Round this corner
were three doors in a line, the first and third of which were open.
They each led into an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows
in the one and one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening
light glimmered dimly through them. The centre door was closed, and
across the outside of it had been fastened one of the broad bars of an
iron bed, padlocked at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at
the other with stout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the
key was not there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the
shuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from
beneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was a
skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in the passage
gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it might veil, I
suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room and saw a shadow pass
backward and forward against the little slit of dim light which shone
out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terror rose up in me at the
sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I
turned and ran—ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me
clutching at the skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through
the door, and straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting
outside.

“‘So,’ said he, smiling, ‘it was you, then. I thought that it must be
when I saw the door open.’

“‘Oh, I am so frightened!’ I panted.

“‘My dear young lady! my dear young lady!’—you cannot think how
caressing and soothing his manner was—‘and what has frightened you, my
dear young lady?’

“But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was
keenly on my guard against him.

“‘I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,’ I answered. ‘But it
is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was frightened and ran
out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in there!’

“‘Only that?’ said he, looking at me keenly.

“‘Why, what did you think?’ I asked.

“‘Why do you think that I lock this door?’

“‘I am sure that I do not know.’

“‘It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you see?’ He
was still smiling in the most amiable manner.

“‘I am sure if I had known—’

“‘Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over that
threshold again’—here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of
rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon—‘I’ll throw you
to the mastiff.’

“I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that I
must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing until I
found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I thought of you,
Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer without some advice. I was
frightened of the house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants,
even of the child. They were all horrible to me. If I could only bring
you down all would be well. Of course I might have fled from the house,
but my curiosity was almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon
made up. I would send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down
to the office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then
returned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my mind
as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I remembered
that Toller had drunk himself into a state of insensibility that
evening, and I knew that he was the only one in the household who had
any influence with the savage creature, or who would venture to set him
free. I slipped in in safety and lay awake half the night in my joy at
the thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in getting leave to come
into Winchester this morning, but I must be back before three o’clock,
for Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all
the evening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you
all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you could
tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should do.”

Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. My
friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his
pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon his face.

“Is Toller still drunk?” he asked.

“Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do nothing
with him.”

“That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?”

“Yes, the wine-cellar.”

“You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave
and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform one
more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not think you a quite
exceptional woman.”

“I will try. What is it?”

“We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o’clock, my friend and I.
The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, be
incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might give the alarm. If
you could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the
key upon her, you would facilitate matters immensely.”

“I will do it.”

“Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of course
there is only one feasible explanation. You have been brought there to
personate someone, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber.
That is obvious. As to who this prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is
the daughter, Miss Alice Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to
have gone to America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in
height, figure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off,
very possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of
course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you came
upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of
hers—possibly her _fiancé_—and no doubt, as you wore the girl’s dress
and were so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he
saw you, and afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was
perfectly happy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. The dog
is let loose at night to prevent him from endeavouring to communicate
with her. So much is fairly clear. The most serious point in the case
is the disposition of the child.”

“What on earth has that to do with it?” I ejaculated.

“My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as
to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. Don’t you see
that the converse is equally valid. I have frequently gained my first
real insight into the character of parents by studying their children.
This child’s disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty’s
sake, and whether he derives this from his smiling father, as I should
suspect, or from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in
their power.”

“I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,” cried our client. “A
thousand things come back to me which make me certain that you have hit
it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor
creature.”

“We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. We
can do nothing until seven o’clock. At that hour we shall be with you,
and it will not be long before we solve the mystery.”

We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the
Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house. The
group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in
the light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even
had Miss Hunter not been standing smiling on the door-step.

“Have you managed it?” asked Holmes.

A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. “That is Mrs.
Toller in the cellar,” said she. “Her husband lies snoring on the
kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr.
Rucastle’s.”

“You have done well indeed!” cried Holmes with enthusiasm. “Now lead
the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business.”

We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage,
and found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss Hunter had
described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. Then he
tried the various keys in the lock, but without success. No sound came
from within, and at the silence Holmes’ face clouded over.

“I trust that we are not too late,” said he. “I think, Miss Hunter,
that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to
it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our way in.”

It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united strength.
Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There was no furniture
save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. The
skylight above was open, and the prisoner gone.

“There has been some villainy here,” said Holmes; “this beauty has
guessed Miss Hunter’s intentions and has carried his victim off.”

“But how?”

“Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it.” He swung
himself up onto the roof. “Ah, yes,” he cried, “here’s the end of a
long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did it.”

“But it is impossible,” said Miss Hunter; “the ladder was not there
when the Rucastles went away.”

“He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and
dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were he
whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it would be
as well for you to have your pistol ready.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the
door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his
hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of
him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and confronted him.

“You villain!” said he, “where’s your daughter?”

The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight.

“It is for me to ask you that,” he shrieked, “you thieves! Spies and
thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I’ll serve
you!” He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go.

“He’s gone for the dog!” cried Miss Hunter.

“I have my revolver,” said I.

“Better close the front door,” cried Holmes, and we all rushed down the
stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we heard the
baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying
sound which it was dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red
face and shaking limbs came staggering out at a side door.

“My God!” he cried. “Someone has loosed the dog. It’s not been fed for
two days. Quick, quick, or it’ll be too late!”

Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with Toller
hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle
buried in Rucastle’s throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the
ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with its
keen white teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. With
much labour we separated them and carried him, living but horribly
mangled, into the house. We laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and
having dispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife, I
did what I could to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him
when the door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.

“Mrs. Toller!” cried Miss Hunter.

“Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he went up
to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn’t let me know what you were
planning, for I would have told you that your pains were wasted.”

“Ha!” said Holmes, looking keenly at her. “It is clear that Mrs. Toller
knows more about this matter than anyone else.”

“Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know.”

“Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several points
on which I must confess that I am still in the dark.”

“I will soon make it clear to you,” said she; “and I’d have done so
before now if I could ha’ got out from the cellar. If there’s
police-court business over this, you’ll remember that I was the one
that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice’s friend too.

“She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn’t, from the time that her
father married again. She was slighted like and had no say in anything,
but it never really became bad for her until after she met Mr. Fowler
at a friend’s house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice had rights of
her own by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she was, that she
never said a word about them but just left everything in Mr. Rucastle’s
hands. He knew he was safe with her; but when there was a chance of a
husband coming forward, who would ask for all that the law would give
him, then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her
to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use her
money. When she wouldn’t do it, he kept on worrying her until she got
brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death’s door. Then she got better
at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her beautiful hair cut off; but
that didn’t make no change in her young man, and he stuck to her as
true as man could be.”

“Ah,” said Holmes, “I think that what you have been good enough to tell
us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all that
remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this system of
imprisonment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of the
disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler.”

“That was it, sir.”

“But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should be,
blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain arguments,
metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests were the
same as his.”

“Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,” said Mrs.
Toller serenely.

“And in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of
drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master
had gone out.”

“You have it, sir, just as it happened.”

“I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller,” said Holmes, “for you
have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here comes
the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think, Watson, that we had
best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that our
_locus standi_ now is rather a questionable one.”

And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper
beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always a
broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife.
They still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of
Rucastle’s past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. Mr.
Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, by special license, in
Southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a
government appointment in the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet
Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no
further interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of
one of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at
Walsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success.