Title: The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes
Author: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
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Language:   English
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Title:      The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes
Author:     Sir Arthur Conan Doyle





CONTENTS


PREFACE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIER
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBS
THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS MANE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER
THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIRED COLOURMAN





PREFACE



I fear that Mr. Sherlock Holmes may become like one of those popular
tenors who, having outlived their time, are still tempted to make
repeated farewell bows to their indulgent audiences. This must cease
and he must go the way of all flesh, material or imaginary. One likes
to think that there is some fantastic limbo for the children of
imagination, some strange, impossible place where the beaux of Fielding
may still make love to the belles of Richardson, where Scott's heroes
still may strut, Dickens's delightful Cockneys still raise a laugh, and
Thackeray's worldlings continue to carry on their reprehensible
careers. Perhaps in some humble corner of such a Valhalla, Sherlock and
his Watson may for a time find a place, while some more astute sleuth
with some even less astute comrade may fill the stage which they have
vacated.

His career has been a long one--though it is possible to exaggerate
it; decrepit gentlemen who approach me and declare that his adventures
formed the reading of their boyhood do not meet the response from me
which they seem to expect. One is not anxious to have one's personal
dates handled so unkindly. As a matter of cold fact, Holmes made his
debut in A Study in Scarlet and in The Sign of Four, two small booklets
which appeared between 1887 and 1889. It was in 1891 that "A Scandal in
Bohemia," the first of the long series of short stories, appeared in
The Strand Magazine. The public seemed appreciative and desirous of
more, so that from that date, thirty-nine years ago, they have been
produced in a broken series which now contains no fewer than fifty-six
stories, republished in The Adventures, The Memoirs, The Return, and
His Last Bow. and there remain these twelve published during the last
few years which are here produced under the title of The Case Book of
Sherlock Holmes. He began his adventures in the very heart of the later
Victorian era, carried it through the all-too-short reign of Edward,
and has managed to hold his own little niche even in these feverish
days. Thus it would be true to say that those who first read of him, as
young men, have lived to see their own grown-up children following the
same adventures in the same magazine. It is a striking example of the
patience and loyalty of the British public.

I had fully determined at the conclusion of The Memoirs to bring Holmes
to an end, as I felt that my literary energies should not be directed
too much into one channel. That pale, clear-cut face and loose-limbed
figure were taking up an undue share of my imagination. I did the deed,
but fortunately no coroner had pronounced upon the remains, and so,
after a long interval, it was not difficult for me to respond to the
flattering demand and to explain my rash act away. I have never
regretted it, for I have not in actual practice found that these
lighter sketches have prevented me from exploring and finding my
limitations in such varied branches of literature as history, poetry,
historical novels, psychic research, and the drama. Had Holmes never
existed I could not have done more, though he may perhaps have stood a
little in the way of the recognition of my more serious literary work.

And so, reader, farewell to Sherlock Holmes! I thank you for your past
constancy, and can but hope that some return has been made in the shape
of that distraction from the worries of life and stimulating change of
thought which can only be found in the fairy kingdom of romance.

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.




THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT



"It can't hurt now," was Mr. Sherlock Holmes's comment when, for the
tenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal the following
narrative. So it was that at last I obtained permission to put on
record what was, in some ways, the supreme moment of my friend's
career.

Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over a
smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that I have found
him less reticent and more human than anywhere else. On the upper floor
of the Northumberland Avenue establishment there is an isolated corner
where two couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we lay
upon September 3, 1902, the day when my narrative begins. I had asked
him whether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long,
thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him and had drawn
an envelope from the inside pocket of the coat which hung beside him.

"It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it may be a matter of life
or death," said he as he handed me the note. "I know no more than this
message tells me."

It was from the Carlton Club and dated the evening before. This is what
I read:


Sir James Damery presents his compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and
will call upon him at 4:30 to-morrow. Sir James begs to say that the
matter upon which he desires to consult Mr. Holmes is very delicate and
also very important. He trusts, therefore, that Mr. Holmes will make every
effort to grant this interview, and that he will confirm it over the
telephone to the Carlton Club.


"I need not say that I have confirmed it, Watson," said Holmes as I
returned the paper. "Do you know anything of this man Damery?"

"Only that this name is a household word in society."

"Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He has rather a
reputation for arranging delicate matters which are to be kept out of
the papers. You may remember his negotiations with Sir George Lewis
over the Hammerford Will case. He is a man of the world with a natural
turn for diplomacy. I am bound, therefore, to hope that it is not a
false scent and that he has some real need for our assistance."

"Our?"

"Well, if you will be so good, Watson."

"I shall be honoured."

"Then you have the hour--4:30. Until then we can put the matter out
of our heads."

I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne Street at the time, but I
was round at Baker Street before the time named. Sharp to the
half-hour, Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is hardly
necessary to describe him, for many will remember that large, bluff,
honest personality, that broad, cleanshaven face, and, above all, that
pleasant, mellow voice. Frankness shone from his gray Irish eyes, and
good humour played round his mobile, smiling lips. His lucent top-hat,
his dark frock-coat, indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin in the
black satin cravat to the lavender spats over the varnished shoes,
spoke of the meticulous care in dress for which he was famous. The big,
masterful aristocrat dominated the little room.

"Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson," he remarked with a
courteous bow. "His collaboration may be very necessary, for we are
dealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom violence is
familiar and who will, literally, stick at nothing. I should say that
there is no more dangerous man in Europe."

"I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term has been
applied," said Holmes with a smile. "Don't you smoke? Then you will
excuse me if I light my pipe. If your man is more dangerous than the
late Professor Moriarty, or than the living Colonel Sebastian Moran,
then he is indeed worth meeting. May I ask his name?"

"Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?"

"You mean the Austrian murderer?"

Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved hands with a laugh. "There is no
getting past you, Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you have already sized him
up as a murderer?"

"It is my business to follow the details of Continental crime. Who
could possibly have read what happened at Prague and have any doubts as
to the man's guilt! It was a purely technical legal point and the
suspicious death of a witness that saved him! I am as sure that he
killed his wife when the socalled 'accident' happened in the Splugen
Pass as if I had seen him do it. I knew, also, that he had come to
England and had a presentiment that sooner or later he would find me
some work to do. Well, what has Baron Gruner been up to? I presume it
is not this old tragedy which has come up again?"

"No, it is more serious than that. To revenge crime is important, but
to prevent it is more so. It is a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes, to see a
dreadful event, an atrocious situation, preparing itself before your
eyes, to clearly understand whither it will lead and yet to be utterly
unable to avert it. Can a human being be placed in a more trying
position?"

"Perhaps not."

"Then you will sympathize with the client in whose interests I am
acting."

"I did not understand that you were merely an intermediary. Who is the
principal?"

"Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that question. It is important
that I should be able to assure him that his honoured name has been in
no way dragged into the matter. His motives are, to the last degree,
honourable and chivalrous, but he prefers to remain unknown. I need not
say that your fees will be assured and that you will be given a
perfectly free hand. Surely the actual name of your client is
immaterial?"

"I am sorry," said Holmes. "I am accustomed to have mystery at one end
of my cases, but to have it at both ends is too confusing. I fear, Sir
James, that I must decline to act."

Our visitor was greatly disturbed. His large, sensitive face was
darkened with emotion and disappointment.

"You hardly realize the effect of your own action, Mr. Holmes," said
he. "You place me in a most serious dilemma for I am perfectly certain
that you would be proud to take over the case if I could give you the
facts, and yet a promise forbids me from revealing them all. May I, at
least, lay all that I can before you?"

"By all means, so long as it is understood that I commit myself to
nothing."

"That is understood. In the first place, you have no doubt heard of
General de Merville?"

"De Merville of Khyber fame? Yes, I have heard of him."

"He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young, rich, beautiful,
accomplished, a wonder-woman in every way. It is this daughter, this
lovely, innocent girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from the
clutches of a fiend."

"Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?"

"The strongest of all holds where a woman is concerned--the hold of
love. The fellow is, as you may have heard, extraordinarily handsome,
with a most fascinating manner. a gentle voice and that air of romance
and mystery which means so much to a woman. He is said to have the
whole sex at his mercy and to have made ample use of the fact."

"But how came such a man to meet a lady of the standing of Miss Violet
de Merville?"

"It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage. The company, though select,
paid their own passages. No doubt the promoters hardly realized the
Baron's true character until it was too late. The villain attached
himself to the lady, and with such effect that he has completely and
absolutely won her heart. To say that she loves him hardly expresses
it. She dotes upon him, she is obsessed by him. Outside of him there is
nothing on earth. She will not hear one word against him. Everything
has been done to cure her of her madness, but in vain. To sum up, she
proposes to marry him next month. As she is of age and has a will of
iron, it is hard to know how to prevent her."

"Does she know about the Austrian episode?"

"The cunning devil has told her every unsavoury public scandal of his
past life, but always in such a way as to make himself out to be an
innocent martyr. She absolutely accepts his version and will listen to
no other."

"Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently let out the name of your
client? It is no doubt General de Merville."

Our visitor fidgeted in his chair.

"I could deceive you by saying so, Mr. Holmes, but it would not be
true. De Merville is a broken man. The strong soldier has been utterly
demoralized by this incident. He has lost the nerve which never failed
him on the battlefield and has become a weak, doddering old man,
utterly incapable of contending with a brilliant, forceful rascal like
this Austrian. My client however is an old friend, one who has known
the General intimately for many years and taken a paternal interest in
this young girl since she wore short frocks. He cannot see this tragedy
consummated without some attempt to stop it. There is nothing in which
Scotland Yard can act. It was his own suggestion that you should be
called in, but it was, as I have said, on the express stipulation that
he should not be personally involved in the matter. I have no doubt,
Mr. Holmes, with your great powers you could easily trace my client
back through me, but I must ask you, as a point of honour, to refrain
from doing so, and not to break in upon his incognito."

Holmes gave a whimsical smile.

"I think I may safely promise that," said he. "I may add that your
problem interests me, and that I shall be prepared to look into it. How
shall I keep in touch with you?"

"The Carlton Club will find me. But in case of emergency, there is a
private telephone call, 'XX.31.'"

Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, with the open memorandum-book
upon his knee.

"The Baron's present address, please?"

"Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large house. He has been
fortunate in some rather shady speculations and is a rich man, which
naturally makes him a more dangerous antagonist."

"Is he at home at present?"

"Yes."

"Apart from what you have told me, can you give me any further
information about the man?"

"He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier. For a short time he
played polo at Hurlingham, but then this Prague affair got noised about
and he had to leave. He collects books and pictures. He is a man with a
considerable artistic side to his nature. He is, I believe, a
recognized authority upon Chinese pottery and has written a book upon
the subject."

"A complex mind," said Holmes. "All great criminals have that. My old
friend Charlie Peace was a violin virtuoso. Wainwright was no mean
artist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James, you will inform your
client that I am turning my mind upon Baron Gruner. I can say no more.
I have some sources of information of my own, and I dare say we may
find some means of opening the matter up."

When our visitor had left us Holmes sat so long in deep thought that it
seemed to me that he had forgotten my presence. At last, however, he
came briskly back to earth.

"Well, Watson, any views?" he asked.

"I should think you had better see the young lady herself."

"My dear Watson, if her poor old broken father cannot move her, how
shall I, a stranger, prevail? And yet there is something in the
suggestion if all else fails. But I think we must begin from a
different angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson might be a help."

I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell Johnson in these memoirs
because I have seldom drawn my cases from the latter phases of my
friend's career. During the first years of the century he became a
valuable assistant. Johnson, I grieve to say, made his name first as a
very dangerous villain and served two terms at Parkhurst. Finally he
repented and allied himself to Holmes, acting as his agent in the huge
criminal underworld of London and obtaining information which often
proved to be of vital importance. Had Johnson been a "nark" of the
police he would soon have been exposed, but as he dealt with cases
which never came directly into the courts, his activities were never
realized by his companions. With the glamour of his two convictions
upon him, he had the entree of every night-club, doss house, and
gamblingden in the town, and his quick observation and active brain
made him an ideal agent for gaining information. It was to him that
Sherlock Holmes now proposed to turn.

It was not possible for me to follow the immediate steps taken by my
friend, for I had some pressing professional business of my own, but I
met him by appointment that evening at Simpson's, where, sitting at a
small table in the front window and looking down at the rushing stream
of life in the Strand, he told me something of what had passed.

"Johnson is on the prowl," said he. "He may pick up some garbage in the
darker recesses of the underworld, for it is down there, amid the black
roots of crime, that we must hunt for this man's secrets."

"But if the lady will not accept what is already known, why should any
fresh discovery of yours turn her from her purpose?"

"Who knows, Watson? Woman's heart and mind are insoluble puzzles to the
male. Murder might be condoned or explained, and yet some smaller
offence might rankle. Baron Gruner remarked to me--"

"He remarked to you!"

"Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans. Well, Watson, I love
to come to close grips with my man. I like to meet him eye to eye and
read for myself the stuff that he is made of. When I had given Johnson
his instructions I took a cab out to Kingston and found the Baron in a
most affable mood."

"Did he recognize you?"

"There was no difficulty about that, for I simply sent in my card. He
is an excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing as
one of your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra. He has
breeding in him--a real aristocrat of crime with a superficial
suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it.
Yes, I am glad to have had my attention called to Baron Adelbert
Gruner."

"You say he was affable?"

"A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective mice. Some people's
affability is more deadly than the violence of coarser souls. His
greeting was characteristic. 'I rather thought I should see you sooner
or later, Mr. Holmes,' said he. 'You have been engaged, no doubt by
General de Merville, to endeavour to stop my marriage with his
daughter, Violet. That is so, is it not?'

"I acquiesced.

"'My dear man,' said he. 'you will only ruin your own well-deserved
reputation. It is not a case in which you can possibly succeed. You
will have barren work, to say nothing of incurring some danger. Let me
very strongly advise you to draw off at once.'

"'It is curious,' I answered, 'but that was the very advice which I
had intended to give you. I have a respect for your brains, Baron, and
the little which I have seen of your personality has not lessened it.
Let me put it to you as man to man. No one wants to rake up your past
and make you unduly uncomfortable. It is over, and you are now in
smooth waters, but if you persist in this marriage you will raise up a
swarm of powerful enemies who will never leave you alone until they
have made England too hot to hold you. Is the game worth it? Surely you
would be wiser if you left the lady alone. It would not be pleasant for
you if these facts of your past were brought to her notice.'

"The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under his nose, like the short
antennae of an insect. These quivered with amusement as he listened,
and he finally broke into a gentle chuckle.

"'Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'but it is really funny
to see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I don't think
anyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic all the same. Not
a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallest of the
small.'

"'So you think.'

"'So I know. Let me make the thing clear to you, for my own hand is so
strong that I can afford to show it. I have been fortunate enough to
win the entire affection of this lady. This was given to me in spite of
the fact that I told her very clearly of all the unhappy incidents in
my past life. I also told her that certain wicked and designing persons
--I hope you recognize yourself--would come to her and tell her
these things. and I warned her how to treat them. You have heard of
post-hypnotic suggestion. Mr. Holmes. Well you will see how it works
for a man of personality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes or
tomfoolery. So she is ready for you and, I have no doubt, would give
you an appointment, for she is quite amenable to her father's will--save
only in the one little matter.'

"Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to say, so I took my leave
with as much cold dignity as I could summon, but, as I had my hand on
the door-handle, he stopped me.

"'By the way, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'did you know Le Brun, the French
agent?'

"'Yes,' said I.

"'Do you know what befell him?'

"'I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches in the Montmartre district
and crippled for life.'

"'Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence he had been
inquiring into my affairs only a week before. Don't do it, Mr. Holmes;
it's not a lucky thing to do. Several have found that out. My last word
to you is, go your own way and let me go mine. Good-bye!'

"So there you are, Watson. You are up to date now."

"The fellow seems dangerous."

"Mighty dangerous. I disregard the blusterer, but this is the sort of
man who says rather less than he means."

"Must you interfere? Does it really matter if he marries the girl?"

"Considering that he undoubtedly murdered his last wife, I should say
it mattered very much. Besides, the client! Well, well, we need not
discuss that. When you have finished your coffee you had best come home
with me, for the blithe Shinwell will be there with his report."

We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, red-faced, scorbutic man,
with a pair of vivid black eyes which were the only external sign of
the very cunning mind within. It seems that he had dived down into what
was peculiarly his kingdom, and beside him on the settee was a brand
which he had brought up in the shape of a slim, flame-like young woman
with a pale, intense face, youthful, and yet so worn with sin and
sorrow that one read the terrible years which had left their leprous
mark upon her.

"This is Miss Kitty Winter," said Shinwell Johnson, waving his fat hand
as an introduction. "What she don't know--well, there, she'll speak
for herself. Put my hand right on her, Mr. Holmes, within an hour of
your message."

"I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me every
time. Same address for Porky Shinwell. We're old mates, Porky, you and
I. But, by cripes! there is another who ought to be down in a lower
hell than we if there was any justice in the world! That is the man you
are after, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes smiled. "I gather we have your good wishes, Miss Winter."

"If I can help to put him where he belongs, I'm yours to the rattle,"
said our visitor with fierce energy. There was an intensity of hatred
in her white, set face and her blazing eyes such as woman seldom and
man never can attain.

"You needn't go into my past, Mr. Holmes. That's neither here nor
there. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made me. If I could pull him
down!" She clutched frantically with her hands into the air. "Oh, if I
could only pull him into the pit where he has pushed so many!"

"You know how the matter stands?"

"Porky Shinwell has been telling me. He's after some other poor fool
and wants to marry her this time. You want to stop it. Well, you surely
know enough about this devil to prevent any decent girl in her senses
wanting to be in the same parish with him."

"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. She has been told all
about him. She cares nothing."

"Told about the murder?"

"Yes."

"My Lord, she must have a nerve!"

"She puts them all down as slanders."

"Couldn't you lay proofs before her silly eyes?"

"Well, can you help us do so?"

"Ain't I a proof myself? If I stood before her and told her how he used
me--"

"Would you do this?"

"Would I? Would I not!"

"Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told her most of his sins
and had pardon from her, and I understand she will not reopen the
question."

"I'll lay he didn't tell her all," said Miss Winter. "I caught a
glimpse of one or two murders besides the one that made such a fuss. He
would speak of someone in his velvet way and then look at me with a
steady eye and say: 'He died within a month.' It wasn't hot air,
either. But I took little notice--you see, I loved him myself at that
time. Whatever he did went with me, same as with this poor fool! There
was just one thing that shook me. Yes, by cripes! if it had not been
for his poisonous, lying tongue that explains and soothes. I'd have
left him that very night. It's a book he has--a brown leather book
with a lock, and his arms in gold on the outside. I think he was a bit
drunk that night, or he would not have shown it to me."

"What was it, then?"

"I tell you. Mr. Holmes. this man collects women, and takes a pride in
his collection. as some men collect moths or butterflies. He had it all
in that book. Snapshot photographs. names, details, everything about
them. It was a beastly book--a book no man, even if he had come from
the gutter, could have put together. But it was Adelbert Gruner's book
all the same. 'Souls I have ruined.' He could have put that on the
outside if he had been so minded. However, that's neither here nor
there, for the book would not serve you, and, if it would, you can't
get it."

"Where is it?"

"How can I tell you where it is now? It's more than a year since I left
him. I know where he kept it then. He's a precise, tidy cat of a man in
many of his ways, so maybe it is still in the pigeon-hole of the old
bureau in the inner study. Do you know his house?"

"I've been in the study," said Holmes.

"Have you. though? You haven't been slow on the job if you only started
this morning. Maybe dear Adelbert has met his match this time. The
outer study is the one with the Chinese crockery in it--big glass
cupboard between the windows. Then behind his desk is the door that
leads to the inner study--a small room where he keeps papers and
things."

"Is he not afraid of burglars?"

"Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy couldn't say that of him. He
can look after himself. There's a burglar alarm at night. Besides, what
is there for a burglar--unless they got away with all this fancy
crockery?"

"No good," said Shinwell Johnson with the decided voice of the expert.
"No fence wants stuff of that sort that you can neither melt nor sell."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, now, Miss Winter. if you would call
here tomorrow evening at five. I would consider in the meanwhile
whether your suggestion of seeing this lady personally may not be
arranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you for your cooperation. I need
not say that my clients will consider liberally--"

"None of that, Mr. Holmes," cried the young woman. "I am not out for
money. Let me see this man in the mud, and I've got all I've worked for
--in the mud with my foot on his cursed face. That's my price. I'm
with you tomorrow or any other day so long as you are on his track.
Porky here can tell you always where to find me."

I did not see Holmes again until the following evening when we dined
once more at our Strand restaurant. He shrugged his shoulders when I
asked him what luck he had had in his interview. Then he told the
story, which I would repeat in this way. His hard, dry statement needs
some little editing to soften it into the terms of real life.

"There was no difficulty at all about the appointment," said Holmes,
"for the girl glories in showing abject filial obedience in all
secondary things in an attempt to atone for her flagrant breach of it
in her engagement. The General phoned that all was ready, and the fiery
Miss W. turned up according to schedule, so that at half-past five a
cab deposited us outside 104 Berkeley Square, where the old soldier
resides--one of those awful gray London castles which would make a
church seem frivolous. A footman showed us into a great
yellow-curtained drawing-room, and there was the lady awaiting us,
demure, pale, self-contained, as inflexible and remote as a snow image
on a mountain.

"I don't quite know how to make her clear to you, Watson. Perhaps you
may meet her before we are through, and you can use your own gift of
words. She is beautiful, but with the ethereal other-world beauty of
some fanatic whose thoughts are set on high. I have seen such faces in
the pictures of the old masters of the Middle Ages. How a beastman
could have laid his vile paws upon such a being of the beyond I cannot
imagine. You may have noticed how extremes call to each other, the
spiritual to the animal, the cave-man to the angel. You never saw a
worse case than this.

"She knew what we had come for, of course--that villain had lost no
time in poisoning her mind against us. Miss Winter's advent rather
amazed her, I think, but she waved us into our respective chairs like a
reverend abbess receiving two rather leprous mendicants. If your head
is inclined to swell. my dear Watson, take a course of Miss Violet de
Merville.

"'Well, sir,' said she in a voice like the wind from an iceberg, 'your
name is familiar to me. You have called. as I understand, to malign my
fiance, Baron Gruner. It is only by my father's request that I see you
at all, and I warn you in advance that anything you can say could not
possibly have the slightest effect upon my mind.'

"I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of her for the moment as I
would have thought of a daughter of my own. I am not often eloquent. I
use my head, not my heart. But I really did plead with her with all the
warmth of words that I could find in my nature. I pictured to her the
awful position of the woman who only wakes to a man's character after
she is his wife--a woman who has to submit to be caressed by bloody
hands and lecherous lips. I spared her nothing--the shame, the fear,
the agony, the hopelessness of it all. All my hot words could not bring
one tinge of colour to those ivory cheeks or one gleam of emotion to
those abstracted eyes. I thought of what the rascal had said about a
post-hypnotic influence. One could really believe that she was living
above the earth in some ecstatic dream. Yet there was nothing
indefinite in her replies.

"'I have listened to you with patience, Mr. Holmes,' said she. 'The
effect upon my mind is exactly as predicted. I am aware that Adelbert,
that my fiance, has had a stormy life in which he has incurred bitter
hatreds and most unjust aspersions. You are only the last of a series
who have brought their slanders before me. Possibly you mean well,
though I learn that you are a paid agent who would have been equally
willing to act for the Baron as against him. But in any case I wish you
to understand once for all that I love him and that he loves me, and
that the opinion of all the world is no more to me than the twitter of
those birds outside the window. If his noble nature has ever for an
instant fallen, it may be that I have been specially sent to raise it
to its true and lofty level. I am not clear'--here she turned eyes
upon my companion--'who this young lady may be.'

"I was about to answer when the girl broke in like a whirlwind. If ever
you saw flame and ice face to face, it was those two women.

"'I'll tell you who I am,' she cried, springing out of her chair, her
mouth all twisted with passion--'I am his last mistress. I am one of
a hundred that he has tempted and used and ruined and thrown into the
refuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse heap is more likely to be
a grave, and maybe that's the best. I tell you, you foolish woman, if
you marry this man he'll be the death of you. It may be a broken heart
or it may be a broken neck, but he'll have you one way or the other.
It's not out of love for you I'm speaking. I don't care a tinker's
curse whether you live or die. It's out of hate for him and to spite
him and to get back on him for what he did to me. But it's all the
same, and you needn't look at me like that, my fine lady, for you may
be lower than I am before you are through with it.'

"'I should prefer not to discuss such matters,' said Miss de Merville
coldly. 'Let me say once for all that I am aware of three passages in
my fiance's life in which he became entangled with designing women, and
that I am assured of his hearty repentance for any evil that he may
have done.'

"'Three passages!' screamed my companion. 'You fool! You unutterable
fool!'

"'Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this interview to an end,'
said the icy voice. 'I have obeyed my father's wish in seeing you, but
I am not compelled to listen to the ravings of this person.'

"With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, and if I had not caught her
wrist she would have clutched this maddening woman by the hair. I
dragged her towards the door and was lucky to get her back into the cab
without a public scene, for she was beside herself with rage. In a cold
way I felt pretty furious myself, Watson, for there was something
indescribably annoying in the calm aloofness and supreme
self-complaisance of the woman whom we were trying to save. So now once
again you know exactly how we stand, and it is clear that I must plan
some fresh opening move, for this gambit won't work. I'll keep in touch
with you, Watson, for it is more than likely that you will have your
part to play, though it is just possible that the next move may lie
with them rather than with us."

And it did. Their blow fell--or his blow rather, for never could I
believe that the lady was privy to it. I think I could show you the
very paving-stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon the
placard, and a pang of horror passed through my very soul. It was
between the Grand Hotel and Charing Cross Station, where a one-legged
news-vender displayed his evening papers. The date was just two days
after the last conversation. There, black upon yellow, was the terrible
news-sheet:

MURDEROUS ATTACK UPON SHERLOCK HOLMES

I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I have a confused
recollection of snatching at a paper. of the remonstrance of the man,
whom I had not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorway of a
chemist's shop while I turned up the fateful paragraph. This was how it
ran:


We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known private
detective, was the victim this morning of a murderous assault which has
left him in a precarious position. There are no exact details to hand,
but the event seems to have occurred about twelve o'clock in Regent
Street, outside the Cafe Royal. The attack was made by two men armed with
sticks, and Mr. Holmes was beaten about the head and body, receiving
injuries which the doctors describe as most serious. He was carried to
Charing Cross Hospital and afterwards insisted upon being taken to his
rooms in Baker Street. The miscreants who attacked him appear to have
been respectably dressed men, who escaped from the bystanders by
passing through the Cafe Royal and out into Glasshouse Street behind it.

No doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternity which has so often had
occasion to bewail the activity and ingenuity of the injured man.


I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over the paragraph
before I had sprung into a hansom and was on my way to Baker Street. I
found Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, in the hall and his
brougham waiting at the curb.

"No immediate danger," was his report. "Two lacerated scalp wounds and
some considerable bruises. Several stitches have been necessary.
Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential, but an interview of
a few minutes would not be absolutely forbidden."

With this permission I stole into the darkened room. The sufferer was
wide awake, and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper. The blind was
three-quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted through and struck
the bandaged head of the injured man. A crimson patch had soaked
through the white linen compress. I sat beside him and bent my head.

"All right, Watson. Don't look so scared," he muttered in a very weak
voice. "It's not as bad as it seems."

"Thank God for that!"

"I'm a bit of a single-stick expert. as you know. I took most of them
on my guard. It was the second man that was too much for me."

"What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was that damned fellow who set
them on. I'll go and thrash the hide off him if you give the word."

"Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing there unless the police lay
their hands on the men. But their get-away had been well prepared. We
may be sure of that. Wait a little. I have my plans. The first thing is
to exaggerate my injuries. They'll come to you for news. Put it on
thick, Watson. Lucky if I live the week out concussion delirium--what
you like! You can't overdo it."

"But Sir Leslie Oakshott?"

"Oh, he's all right. He shall see the worst side of me. I'll look after
that."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out of the way. Those
beauties will be after her now. They know, of course, that she was with
me in the case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely they will
neglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night."

"I'll go now. Anything more?"

"Put my pipe on the table--and the tobacco-slipper. Right! Come in
each morning and we will plan our campaign."

I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss Winter to a quiet
suburb and see that she lay low until the danger was past.

For six days the public were under the impression that Holmes was at
the door of death. The bulletins were very grave and there were
sinister paragraphs in the papers. My continual visits assured me that
it was not so bad as that. His wiry constitution and his determined
will were working wonders. He was recovering fast, and I had suspicions
at times that he was really finding himself faster than he pretended
even to me. There was a curious secretive streak in the man which led
to many dramatic effects, but left even his closest friend guessing as
to what his exact plans might be. He pushed to an extreme the axiom
that the only safe plotter was he who plotted alone. I was nearer him
than anyone else, and yet I was always conscious of the gap between.

On the seventh day the stitches were taken out, in spite of which there
was a report of erysipelas in the evening papers. The same evening
papers had an announcement which I was bound, sick or well, to carry to
my friend. It was simply that among the passengers on the Cunard boat
Ruritania, starting from Liverpool on Friday, was the Baron Adelbert
Gruner, who had some important financial business to settle in the
States before his impending wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only
daughter of, etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a cold,
concentrated look upon his pale face, which told me that it hit him
hard.

"Friday!" he cried. "Only three clear days. I believe the rascal wants
to put himself out of danger's way. But he won't, Watson! By the Lord
Harry, he won't! Now, Watson, I want you to do something for me."

"I am here to be used, Holmes."

"Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in an intensive study of
Chinese pottery."

He gave no explanations and I asked for none. By long experience I had
learned the wisdom of obedience. But when I had left his room I walked
down Baker Street, revolving in my head how on earth I was to carry out
so strange an order. Finally I drove to the London Library in St.
James's Square, put the matter to my friend Lomax, the sublibrarian,
and departed to my rooms with a goodly volume under my arm.

It is said that the barrister who crams up a case with such care that
he can examine an expert witness upon the Monday has forgotten all his
forced knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I should not like now
to pose as an authority upon ceramics. And yet all that evening, and
all that night with a short interval for rest, and all next morning, I
was sucking in knowledge and committing names to memory. There I
learned of the hall-marks of the great artist-decorators, of the
mystery of cyclical dates, the marks of the Hung-wu and the beauties of
the Yung-lo, the writings of Tang-ying, and the glories of the
primitive period of the Sung and the Yuan. I was charged with all this
information when I called upon Holmes next evening. He was out of bed
now, though you would not have guessed it from the published reports,
and he sat with his much-bandaged head resting upon his hand in the
depth of his favourite armchair.

"Why, Holmes," I said, "if one believed the papers, you are dying."

"That," said he, "is the very impression which I intended to convey.
And now, Watson, have you learned your lessons?"

"At least I have tried to."

"Good. You could keep up an intelligent conversation on the subject?"

"I believe I could."

"Then hand me that little box from the mantelpiece."

He opened the lid and took out a small object most carefully wrapped in
some fine Eastern silk. This he unfolded, and disclosed a delicate
little saucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour.

"It needs careful handling, Watson. This is the real egg-shell pottery
of the Ming dynasty. No finer piece ever passed through Christie's. A
complete set of this would be worth a king's ransom--in fact, it is
doubtful if there is a complete set outside the imperial palace of
Peking. The sight of this would drive a real connoisseur wild."

"What am I to do with it?"

Holmes handed me a card upon which was printed: "Dr. Hill Barton, 369
Half Moon Street."

"That is your name for the evening, Watson. You will call upon Baron
Gruner. I know something of his habits, and at half-past eight he would
probably be disengaged. A note will tell him in advance that you are
about to call, and you will say that you are bringing him a specimen of
an absolutely unique set of Ming china. You may as well be a medical
man, since that is a part which you can play without duplicity. You are
a collector this set has come your way, you have heard of the Baron's
interest in the subject, and you are not averse to selling at a price."

"What price?"

"Well asked, Watson. You would certainly fall down badly if you did not
know the value of your own wares. This saucer was got for me by Sir
James, and comes, I understand, from the collection of his client. You
will not exaggerate if you say that it could hardly be matched in the
world."

"I could perhaps suggest that the set should be valued by an expert."

"Excellent, Watson! You scintillate to-day. Suggest Christie or
Sotheby. Your delicacy prevents your putting a price for yourself."

"But if he won't see me?"

"Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collection mania in its most
acute form--and especially on this subject, on which he is an
acknowledged authority. Sit down, Watson, and I will dictate the
letter. No answer needed. You will merely say that you are coming, and
why."

It was an admirable document, short, courteous, and stimulating to the
curiosity of the connoisseur. A district messenger was duly dispatched
with it. On the same evening, with the precious saucer in my hand and
the card of Dr. Hill Barton in my pocket, I set off on my own
adventure.

The beautiful house and grounds indicated that Baron Gruner was, as Sir
James had said, a man of considerable wealth. A long winding drive,
with banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out into a great
gravelled square adorned with statues. The place had been built by a
South African gold king in the days of the great boom, and the long,
low house with the turrets at the corners, though an architectural
nightmare, was imposing in its size and solidity. A butler, who would
have adorned a bench of bishops, showed me in and handed me over to a
plush-clad footman, who ushered me into the Baron's presence.

He was standing at the open front of a great case which stood between
the windows and which contained part of his Chinese collection. He
turned as I entered with a small brown vase in his hand.

"Pray sit down, Doctor," said he. "I was looking over my own treasures
and wondering whether I could really afford to add to them. This little
Tang specimen, which dates from the seventh century, would probably
interest you. I am sure you never saw finer workmanship or a richer
glaze. Have you the Ming saucer with you of which you spoke?"

I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. He seated himself at his
desk, pulled over the lamp, for it was growing dark, and set himself to
examine it. As he did so the yellow light beat upon his own features,
and I was able to study them at my ease.

He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputation for
beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middle
size, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was
swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might
easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and
moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully
waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight,
thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer's mouth it was there--a
cruel, hard gash in the face, compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He
was ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it was
Nature's danger-signal, set as a warning to his victims. His voice was
engaging and his manners perfect. In age I should have put him at
little over thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he was
forty-two.

"Very fine--very fine indeed!" he said at last. "And you say you have
a set of six to correspond. What puzzles me is that I should not have
heard of such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in England to
match this, and it is certainly not likely to be in the market. Would
it be indiscreet if I were to ask you, Dr. Hill Barton, how you
obtained this?"

"Does it really matter?" I asked with as careless an air as I could
muster.

"You can see that the piece is genuine, and, as to the value, I am
content to take an expert's valuation."

"Very mysterious," said he with a quick, suspicious flash of his dark
eyes. "In dealing with objects of such value, one naturally wishes to
know all about the transaction. That the piece is genuine is certain. I
have no doubts at all about that. But suppose--I am bound to take
every possibility into account--that it should prove afterwards that
you had no right to sell?"

"I would guarantee you against any claim of the son."

"That, of course, would open up the question as to what your guarantee
was worth."

"My bankers would answer that."

"Quite so. And yet the whole transaction strikes me as rather unusual."

"You can do business or not," said I with indifference. "I have given
you the first offer as I understood that you were a connoisseur, but I
shall have no difficulty in other quaerers."

"Who told you I was a connoisseur?"

"I was aware that you had written a book upon the subject."

"Have you read the book?"

"No."

"Dear me, this becomes more and more difficult for me to understand!
You are a connoisseur and collector with a very valuable piece in your
collection, and yet you have never troubled to consult the one book
which would have told you of the real meaning and value of what you
held. How do you explain that?"

"I am a very busy man. I am a doctor in practice."

"That is no answer. If a man has a hobby he follows it up, whatever his
other pursuits may be. You said in your note that you were a
connoisseur."

"So I am."

"Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I am obliged to tell you,
Doctor--if you are indeed a doctor--that the incident becomes more
and more suspicious. I would ask you what do you know of the Emperor
Shomu and how do you associate him with the Shoso-in near Nara? Dear
me, does that puzzle you? Tell me a little about the Nonhern Wei
dynasty and its place in the history of ceramics."

I sprang from my chair in simulated anger.

"This is intolerable, sir," said I. "I came here to do you a favour,
and not to be examined as if I were a schoolboy. My knowledge on these
subjects may be second only to your own, but I certainly shall not
answer questions which have been put in so offensive a way."

He looked at me steadily. The languor had gone from his eyes. They
suddenly glared. There was a gleam of teeth from between those cruel
lips.

"What is the game? You are here as a spy. You are an emissary of
Holmes. This is a trick that you are playing upon me. The fellow is
dying I hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. You've made
your way in here without leave, and, by God! you may find it harder to
get out than to get in."

He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, bracing myself for an
attack, for the man was beside himself with rage. He may have suspected
me from the first; certainly this cross-examination had shown him the
truth; but it was clear that I could not hope to deceive him. He dived
his hand into a side-drawer and rummaged furiously. Then something
struck upon his ear, for he stood listening intently.

"Ah!" he cried. "Ah!" and dashed into the room behind him.

Two steps took me to the open door, and my mind will ever carry a clear
picture of the scene within. The window leading out to the garden was
wide open. Beside it, looking like some terrible ghost, his head gin
with bloody bandages, his face drawn and white, stood Sherlock Holmes.
The next instant he was through the gap, and I heard the crash of his
body among the laurel bushes outside. With a howl of rage the master of
the house rushed after him to the open window.

And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I clearly saw it. An arm
--a woman's arm--shot out from among the leaves. At the same instant
the Baron uttered a horrible cry--a yell which will always ring in my
memory. He clapped his two hands to his face and rushed round the room,
beating his head horribly against the walls. Then he fell upon the
carpet, rolling and writhing, while scream after scream resounded
through the house.

"Water! For God's sake, water!" was his cry.

I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to his aid. At the same
moment the butler and several footmen ran in from the hall. I remember
that one of them fainted as I knelt by the injured man and turned that
awful face to the light of the lamp. The vitriol was eating into it
everywhere and dripping from the ears and the chin. One eye was already
white and glazed. The other was red and inflamed. The features which I
had admired a few minutes before were now like some beautiful painting
over which the artist has passed a wet and foul sponge. They were
blurred, discoloured, inhuman, terrible.

In a few words I explained exactly what had occurred, so far as the
vitriol attack was concerned. Some had climbed through the window and
others had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was dark and it had begun
to rain. Between his screams the victim raged and raved against the
avenger. "It was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter!" he cried. "Oh, the
she-devil! She shall pay for it! She shall pay! Oh, God in heaven, this
pain is more than I can bear!"

I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the raw surfaces, and
administered a hypodermic of morphia. All suspicion of me had passed
from his mind in the presence of this shock, and he clung to my hands
as if I might have the power even yet to clear those dead-fish eyes
which glazed up at me. I could have wept over the ruin had l not
remembered very clearly the vile life which had led up to so hideous a
change. It was loathsome to feel the pawing of his burning hands, and I
was relieved when his family surgeon, closely followed by a specialist,
came to relieve me of my charge. An inspector of police had also
arrived, and to him I handed my real card. It would have been useless
as well as foolish to do otherwise, for I was nearly as well known by
sight at the Yard as Holmes himself. Then I left that house of gloom
and terror. Within an hour I was at Baker Street.

Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking very pale and
exhausted. Apart from his injuries, even his iron nerves had been
shocked by the events of the evening, and he listened with horror to my
account of the Baron's transformation.

"The wages of sin, Watson--the wages of sin!" said he. "Sooner or
later it will always come. God knows, there was sin enough," he added,
taking up a brown volume from the table. "Here is the book the woman
talked of. If this will not break off the marriage, nothing ever could.
But it will, Watson. It must. No self-respecting woman could stand it."

"It is his love diary?"

"Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The moment the woman told us
of it I realized what a tremendous weapon was there if we could but lay
our hands on it. I said nothing at the time to indicate my thoughts,
for this woman might have given it away. But I brooded over it. Then
this assault upon me gave me the chance of letting the Baron think that
no precautions need be taken against me. That was all to the good. I
would have waited a little longer, but his visit to America forced my
hand. He would never have left so compromising a document behind him.
Therefore we had to act at once. Burglary at night is impossible. He
takes precautions. But there was a chance in the evening if I could
only be sure that his attention was engaged. That was where you and
your blue saucer came in. But I had to be sure of the position of the
book, and I knew I had only a few minutes in which to act, for my time
was limited by your knowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore I gathered
the girl up at the last moment. How could I guess what the little
packet was that she carried so carefully under her cloak? I thought she
had come altogether on my business, but it seems she had some of her
own."

"He guessed I came from you."

"I feared he would. But you held him in play just long enough for me to
get the book, though not long enough for an unobserved escape. Ah, Sir
James, I am very glad you have come!"

Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a previous summons. He
listened with the deepest attention to Holmes's account of what had
occurred.

"You have done wonders--wonders!" he cried when he had heard the
narrative. "But if these injuries are as terrible as Dr. Watson
describes, then surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage is
sufficiently gained without the use of this horrible book."

Holmes shook his head.

"Women of the De Merville type do not act like that. She would love him
the more as a disfigured martyr. No, no. It is his moral side, not his
physical, which we have to destroy. That book will bring her back to
earth--and I know nothing else that could. It is in his own writing.
She cannot get past it."

Sir James carried away both it and the precious saucer. As I was myself
overdue, I went down with him into the street. A brougham was waiting
for him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to the cockaded coachman,
and drove swiftly away. He flung his overcoat half out of the window to
cover the armorial bearings upon the panel, but I had seen them in the
glare of our fanlight none the less. I gasped with surprise. Then I
turned back and ascended the stair to Holmes's room.

"I have found out who our client is," I cried, bursting with my great
news. "Why, Holmes, it is--"

"It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman," said Holmes, holding
up a restraining hand. "Let that now and forever be enough for us."

I do not know how the incriminating book was used. Sir James may have
managed it. Or it is more probable that so delicate a task was
entrusted to the young lady's father. The effect, at any rate, was all
that could be desired.

Three days later appeared a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that
the marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner and Miss Violet de Merville
would not take place. The same paper had the first police-court hearing
of the proceedings against Miss Kitty Winter on the grave charge of
vitriol-throwing. Such extenuating circumstances came out in the trial
that the sentence, as will be remembered was the lowest that was
possible for such an offence. Sherlock Holmes was threatened with a
prosecution for burglary, but when an object is good and a client is
sufficiently illustrious, even the rigid British law becomes human and
elastic. My friend has not yet stood in the dock.




THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIER



The ideas of my friend Watson, though limited, are exceedingly
pertinacious. For a long time he has worried me to write an experience
of my own. Perhaps I have rather invited this persecution, since I have
often had occasion to point out to him how superficial are his own
accounts and to accuse him of pandering to popular taste instead of
confining himself rigidly to facts and figures. "Try it yourself,
Holmes!" he has retorted, and I am compelled to admit that, having
taken my pen in my hand, I do begin to realize that the matter must be
presented in such a way as may interest the reader. The following case
can hardly fail to do so, as it is among the strangest happenings in my
collection though it chanced that Watson had no note of it in his
collection. Speaking of my old friend and biographer, I would take this
opportunity to remark that if I burden myself with a companion in my
various little inquiries it is not done out of sentiment or caprice,
but it is that Watson has some remarkable characteristics of his own to
which in his modesty he has given small attention amid his exaggerated
estimates of my own performances. A confederate who foresees your
conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom
each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future
is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate.

I find from my notebook that it was in January, 1903, just after the
conclusion of the Boer War, that I had my visit from Mr. James M. Dodd,
a big, fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton. The good Watson had at that
time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall
in our association. I was alone.

It is my habit to sit with my back to the window and to place my
visitors in the opposite chair, where the light falls full upon them.
Mr. James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin the interview.
I did not attempt to help him, for his silence gave me more time for
observation. I have found it wise to impress clients with a sense of
power, and so I gave him some of my conclusions.

"From South Africa, sir, I perceive."

"Yes, sir," he answered, with some surprise.

"Imperial Yeomanry, I fancy."

"Exactly."

"Middlesex Corps, no doubt."

"That is so. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard."

I smiled at his bewildered expression.

"When a gentleman of virile appearance enters my room with such tan
upon his face as an English sun could never give, and with his
handkerchief in his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is not
difficult to place him. You wear a short beard, which shows that you
were not a regular. You have the cut of a riding-man. As to Middlesex,
your card has already shown me that you are a stockbroker from
Throgmorton Street. What other regiment would you join?"

"You see everything."

"I see no more than you, but I have trained myself to notice what I
see. However, Mr. Dodd, it was not to discuss the science of
observation that you called upon me this morning. What has been
happening at Tuxbury Old Park?"

"Mr. Holmes--!"

"My dear sir, there is no mystery. Your letter came with that heading,
and as you fixed this appointment in very pressing terms it was clear
that something sudden and important had occurred."

"Yes, indeed. But the letter was written in the afternoon, and a good
deal has happened since then. If Colonel Emsworth had not kicked me out
--"

"Kicked you out!"

"Well, that was what it amounted to. He is a hard nail, is Colonel
Emsworth. The greatest martinet in the Army in his day, and it was a
day of rough language, too. I couldn't have stuck the colonel if it had
not been for Godfrey's sake."

I lit my pipe and leaned back in my chair.

"Perhaps you will explain what you are talking about."

My client grinned mischievously.

"I had got into the way of supposing that you knew everything without
being told," said he. "But I will give you the facts, and I hope to God
that you will be able to tell me what they mean. I've been awake all
night puzzling my brain, and the more I think the more incredible does
it become.

"When I joined up in January, 1901--just two years ago--young
Godfrey Emsworth had joined the same squadron. He was Colonel
Emsworth's only son--Emsworth the Crimean V. C.--and he had the
fighting blood in him, so it is no wonder he volunteered. There was not
a finer lad in the regiment. We formed a friendship--the sort of
friendship which can only be made when one lives the same life and
shares the same joys and sorrows. He was my mate--and that means a
good deal in the Army. We took the rough and the smooth together for a
year of hard fighting. Then he was hit with a bullet from an elephant
gun in the action near Diamond Hill outside-Pretoria. I got one letter
from the hospital at Cape Town and one from Southampton. Since then not
a word--not one word, Mr. Holmes, for six months and more, and he my
closest pal.

"Well, when the war was over, and we all got back, I wrote to his
father and asked where Godfrey was. No answer. I waited a bit and then
I wrote again. This time I had a reply, short and gruff. Godfrey had
gone on a voyage round the world, and it was not likely that he would
be back for a year. That was all.

"I wasn't satisfied, Mr. Holmes. The whole thing seemed to me so damned
unnatural. He was a good lad, and he would not drop a pal like that. It
was not like him. Then, again, I happened to know that he was heir to a
lot of money, and also that his father and he did not always hit it off
too well. The old man was sometimes a bully, and young Godfrey had too
much spirit to stand it. No, I wasn't satisfied, and I determined that
I would get to the root of the matter. It happened, however, that my
own affairs needed a lot of straightening out, after two years'
absence, and so it is only this week that I have been able to take up
Godfrey's case again. But since I have taken it up I mean to drop
everything in order to see it through."

Mr. James M. Dodd appeared to be the sort of person whom it would be
better to have as a friend than as an enemy. His blue eyes were stern
and his square jaw had set hard as he spoke.

"Well, what have you done?" I asked.

"My first move was to get down to his home, Tuxbury Old Park, near
Bedford, and to see for myself how the ground lay. I wrote to the
mother, therefore--I had had quite enough of the curmudgeon of a
father--and I made a clean frontal attack: Godfrey was my chum, I had
a great deal of interest which I might tell her of our common
experiences, I should be in the neighbourhood, would there be any
objection, et cetera? In reply I had quite an amiable answer from her
and an offer to put me up for the night. That was what took me down on
Monday.

"Tuxbury Old Hall is inaccessible--five miles from anywhere. There
was no trap at the station, so I had to walk, carrying my suitcase, and
it was nearly dark before I arrived. It is a great wandering house,
standing in a considerable park. I should judge it was of all sorts of
ages and styles, starting on a half-timbered Elizabethan foundation and
ending in a Victorian portico. Inside it was all panelling and tapestry
and half-effaced old pictures, a house of shadows and mystery. There
was a butler, old Ralph, who seemed about the same age as the house,
and there was his wife, who might have been older. She had been
Godfrey's nurse, and I had heard him speak of her as second only to his
mother in his affections, so I was drawn to her in spite of her queer
appearance. The mother I liked also--a gentle little white mouse of a
woman. It was only the colonel himself whom I barred.

"We had a bit of barney right away, and I should have walked back to
the station if I had not felt that it might be playing his game for me
to do so. I was shown straight into his study, and there I found him, a
huge, bow-backed man with a smoky skin and a straggling gray beard,
seated behind his littered desk. A red-veined nose jutted out like a
vulture's beak, and two fierce gray eyes glared at me from under tufted
brows. I could understand now why Godfrey seldom spoke of his father.

"'Well, sir,' said he in a rasping voice, 'I should be interested to
know the real reasons for this visit.'

"I answered that I had explained them in my letter to his wife.

"'Yes, yes, you said that you had known Godfrey in Africa. We have, of
course, only your word for that.'

"'I have his letters to me in my pocket.'

"'Kindly let me see them.'

"He glanced at the two which I handed him, and then he tossed them
back.

"'Well, what then?' he asked.

"'I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many ties and memories united
us. Is it not natural that I should wonder at his sudden silence and
should wish to know what has become of him?'

"'I have some recollections, sir, that I had already corresponded with
you and had told you what had become of him. He has gone upon a voyage
round the world. His health was in a poor way after his African
experiences, and both his mother and I were of opinion that camplete
rest and change were needed. Kindly pass that explanation on to any
other friends who may be interested in the matter.'

"'Certainly,' I answered. 'But perhaps you would have the goodness to
let me have the name of the steamer and of the line by which he sailed,
together with the date. I have no doubt that I should be able to get a
letter through to him.'

"My request seemed both to puzzle and to irritate my host. His great
eyebrows came down over his eyes, and he tapped his fingers impatiently
on the table. He looked up at last with the expression of one who has
seen his adversary make a dangerous move at chess, and has decided how
to meet it.

"'Many people, Mr. Dodd,' said he, 'would take offence at your
infernal pertinacity and would think that this insistence had reached
the point of damned impertinence.'

"'You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.'

"'Exactly. I have already made every allowance upon that score. I must
ask you, however, to drop these inquiries. Every family has its own
inner knowledge and its own motives, which cannot always be made clear
to outsiders, however well-intentioned. My wife is anxious to hear
something of Godfrey's past which you are in a position to tell her,
but I would ask you to let the present and the future alone. Such
inquiries serve no useful purpose, sir, and place us in a delicate and
difficult position.'

"So I came to a dead end, Mr. Holmes. There was no getting past it. I
could only pretend to accept the situation and register a vow inwardly
that I would never rest until my friend's fate had been cleared up. It
was a dull evening. We dined quietly, the three of us, in a gloomy,
faded old room. The lady questioned me eagerly about her son, but the
old man seemed morose and depressed. I was so bored by the whole
proceeding that I made an excuse as soon as I decently could and
retired to my bedroom. It was a large, bare room on the ground floor,
as gloomy as the rest of the house, but after a year of sleeping upon
the veldt, Mr. Holmes, one is not too particular about one's quarters.
I opened the curtains and looked out into the garden, remarking that it
was a fine night with a bright half-moon. Then I sat down by the
roaring fire with the lamp on a table beside me, and endeavoured to
distract my mind with a novel. I was interrupted, however, by Ralph,
the old butler, who came in with a fresh supply of coals.

"'I thought you might run short in the night-time, sir. It is bitter
weather and these rooms are cold.'

"He hesitated before leaving the room, and when I looked round he was
standing facing me with a wistful look upon his wrinkled face.

"'Beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help hearing what you said of
young Master Godfrey at dinner. You know, sir, that my wife nursed him,
and so I may say I am his foster-father. It's natural we should take an
interest. And you say he carried himself well, sir?'

"'There was no braver man in the regiment. He pulled me out once from
under the rifles of the Boers, or maybe I should not be here.'

"The old butler rubbed his skinny hands.

"'Yes, sir, yes, that is Master Godfrey all over. He was always
courageous. There's not a tree in the park, sir, that he has not
climbed. Nothing would stop him. He was a fine boy--and oh, sir, he
was a fine man.'

"I sprang to my feet.

"'Look here!' I cried. 'You say he was. You speak as if he were dead.
What is all this mystery? What has become of Godfrey Emsworth?'

"I gripped the old man by the shoulder, but he shrank away.

"'I don't know what you mean, sir. Ask the master about Master
Godfrey. He knows. It is not for me to interfere.'

"He was leaving the room, but I held his arm

"'Listen,' I said. 'You are going to answer one question before you
leave if I have to hold you all night. Is Godfrey dead?"

"He could not face my eyes. He was like a man hypnotized The answer was
dragged from his lips. It was a terrible and unexpected one.

"'I wish to God he was!' he cried, and, tearing himself free he dashed
from the room.

"You will think, Mr. Holmes, that I returned to my chair in no very
happy state of mind. The old man's words seemed to me to bear only one
interpretation. Clearly my poor friend had become involved in some
criminal or, at the least, disreputable transaction which touched the
family honour. That stern old man had sent his son away and hidden him
from the world lest some scandal should come to light. Godfrey was a
reckless fellow. He was easily influenced by those around him. No doubt
he had fallen into bad hands and been misled to his ruin. It was a
piteous business, if it was indeed so, but even now it was my duty to
hunt him out and see if I could aid him. I was anxiously pondering the
matter when I looked up, and there was Godfrey Emsworth standing before
me."

My client had paused as one in deep emotion.

"Pray continue," I said. "Your problem presents some very unusual
features."

"He was outside the window, Mr. Holmes, with his face pressed against
the glass. I have told you that I looked out at the night. When I did
so I left the curtains partly open. His figure was framed in this gap.
The window came down to the ground and I could see the whole length of
it, but it was his face which held my gaze. He was deadly pale--never
have I seen a man so white. I reckon ghosts may look like that; but his
eyes met mine, and they were the eyes of a living man. He sprang back
when he saw that I was looking at him, and he vanished into the
darkness.

"There was something shocking about the man, Mr. Holmes. It wasn't
merely that ghastly face glimmering as white as cheese in the darkness.
It was more subtle than that--something slinking, something furtive,
something guilty--something very unlike the frank, manly lad that I
had known. It left a feeling of horror in my mind.

"But when a man has been soldiering for a year or two with brother Boer
as a playmate, he keeps his nerve and acts quickly. Godfrey had hardly
vanished before I was at the window. There was an awkward catch, and I
was some little time before I could throw it up. Then I nipped through
and ran down the garden path in the direction that I thought he might
have taken.

"It was a long path and the light was not very good, but it seemed to
me something was moving ahead of me. I ran on and called his name, but
it was no use. When I got to the end of the path there were several
others branching in different directions to various outhouses. I stood
hesitating, and as I did so I heard distinctly the sound of a closing
door. It was not behind me in the house, but ahead of me, somewhere in
the darkness. That was enough, Mr. Holmes, to assure me that what I had
seen was not a vision. Godfrey had run away from me, and he had shut a
door behind him. Of that I was certain.

"There was nothing more I could do, and I spent an uneasy night turning
the matter over in my mind and trying to find some theory which would
cover the facts. Next day I found the colonel rather more conciliatory,
and as his wife remarked that there were some places of interest in the
neighbourhood, it gave me an opening to ask whether my presence for one
more night would incommode them. A somewhat grudging acquiescence from
the old man gave me a clear day in which to make my observations. I was
already perfectly convinced that Godfrey was in hiding somewhere near,
but where and why remained to be solved.

"The house was so large and so rambling that a regiment might be hid
away in it and no one the wiser. If the secret lay there it was
difficult for me to penetrate it. But the door which I had heard close
was certainly not in the house. I must explore the garden and see what
I could find. There was no difficulty in the way, for the old people
were busy in their own fashion and left me to my own devices.

"There were several small outhouses, but at the end of the garden there
was a detached building of some size--large enough for a gardener's
or a gamekeeper's residence. Could this be the place whence the sound
of that shutting door had come? I approached it in a careless fashion
as though I were strolling aimlessly round the grounds. As I did so, a
small, brisk, bearded man in a black coat and bowler hat--not at all
the gardener type--came out of the door. To my surprise, he locked it
after him and put the key in his pocket. Then he looked at me with some
surprise on his face.

"'Are you a visitor here?' he asked.

"I explained that I was and that I was a friend of Godfrey's.

"'What a pity that he should be away on his travels, for he would have
so liked to see me,' I continued.

"'Quite so. Exactly,' said he with a rather guilty air. 'No doubt you
will renew your visit at some more propitious time.' He passed on, but
when I turned I observed that he was standing watching me,
half-concealed by the laurels at the far end of the garden.

"I had a good look at the little house as I passed it, but the windows
were heavily curtained, and, so far as one could see, it was empty. I
might spoil my own game and even be ordered off the premises if I were
too audacious, for I was still conscious that I was being watched.
Therefore, I strolled back to the house and waited for night before I
went on with my inquiry. When all was dark and quiet I slipped out of
my window and made my way as silently as possible to the mysterious
lodge.

"I have said that it was heavily curtained, but now I found that the
windows were shuttered as well. Some light, however, was breaking
through one of them, so I concentrated my attention upon this. I was in
luck, for the curtain had not been quite closed, and there was a crack
in the shutter, so that I could see the inside of the room. It was a
cheery place enough, a bright lamp and a blazing fire. Opposite to me
was seated the little man whom I had seen in the morning. He was
smoking a pipe and reading a paper."

"What paper?" I asked.

My client seemed annoyed at the interruption of his narrative.

"Can it matter?" he asked.

"It is most essential."

"I really took no notice."

"Possibly you observed whether it was a broad-leafed paper or of that
smaller type which one associates with weeklies."

"Now that you mention it, it was not large. It might have been the
Spectator. However, I had little thought to spare upon such details,
for a second man was seated with his back to the window, and I could
swear that this second man was Godfrey. I could not see his face, but I
knew the familiar slope of his shoulders. He was leaning upon his elbow
in an attitude of great melancholy, his body turned towards the fire. I
was hesitating as to what I should do when there was a sharp tap on my
shoulder, and there was Colonel Emsworth beside me.

"'This way, sir!' said he in a low voice. He walked in silence to the
house, and I followed him into my own bedroom. He had picked up a
time-table in the hall.

" There is a train to London at 8:30,' said he. 'The trap will be at
the door at eight.'

"He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt myself in so difficult a
position that I could only stammer out a few incoherent apologies in
which I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxiety for my friend.

"'The matter will not bear discussion,' said he abruptly. 'You have
made a most damnable intrusion into the privacy of our family. You were
here as a guest and you have become a spy. I have nothing more to say,
sir, save that I have no wish ever to see you again.'

"At this I lost my temper, Mr. Holmes, and I spoke with some warmth.

"'I have seen your son, and I am convinced that for some reason of
your own you are concealing him from the world. I have no idea what
your motives are in cutting him off in this fashion, but I am sure that
he is no longer a free agent. I warn you, Colonel Emsworth, that until
I am assured as to the safety and well-being of my friend I shall never
desist in my efforts to get to the bottom of the mystery, and I shall
certainly not allow myself to be intimidated by anything which you may
say or do.'

"The old fellow looked diabolical, and I really thought he was about to
attack me. I have said that he was a gaunt, fierce old giant, and
though I am no weakling I might have been hard put to it to hold my own
against him. However, after a long glare of rage he turned upon his
heel and walked out of the room. For my part, I took the appointed
train in the morning, with the full intention of coming straight to you
and asking for your advice and assistance at the appointment for which
I had already written."

Such was the problem which my visitor laid before me. It presented, as
the astute reader will have already perceived, few difficulties in its
solution, for a very limited choice of alternatives must get to the
root of the matter. Still, elementary as it was, there were points of
interest and novelty about it which may excuse my placing it upon
record. I now proceeded, using my familiar method of logical analysis,
to narrow down the possible solutions.

"The servants," I asked; "how many were in the house?"

"To the best of my belief there were only the old butler and his wife.
They seemed to live in the simplest fashion."

"There was no servant, then, in the detached house?"

"None, unless the little man with the beard acted as such. He seemed,
however, to be quite a superior person."

"That seems very suggestive. Had you any indication that food was
conveyed from the one house to the other?"

"Now that you mention it, I did see old Ralph carrying a basket down
the garden walk and going in the direction of this house. The idea of
food did not occur to me at the moment."

"Did you make any local inquiries?"

"Yes, I did. I spoke to the station-master and also to the innkeeper in
the village. I simply asked if they knew anything of my old comrade,
Godfrey Emsworth. Both of them assured me that he had gone for a voyage
round the world. He had come home and then had almost at once started
off again. The story was evidently universally accepted."

"You said nothing of your suspicions?"

"Nothing."

"That was very wise. The matter should certainly be inquired into. I
will go back with you to Tuxbury Old Park."

"To-day?"

It happened that at the moment I was clearing up the case which my
friend Watson has described as that of the Abbey School, in which the
Duke of Greyminster was so deeply involved. I had also a commission
from the Sultan of Turkey which called for immediate action, as
political consequences of the gravest kind might arise from its
neglect. Therefore it was not until the beginning of the next week, as
my diary records, that I was able to start forth on my mission to
Bedfordshire in company with Mr. James M. Dodd. As we drove to Eustonn
we picked up a grave and tacitum gentleman of iron-gray aspect, with
whom I had made the necessary arrangements.

"This is an old friend," said I to Dodd. "It is possible that his
presence may be entirely unnecessary, and, on the other hand, it may be
essential. It is not necessary at the present stage to go further into
the matter."

The narratives of Watson have accustomed the reader, no doubt, to the
fact that I do not waste words or disclose my thoughts while a case is
actually under consideration. Dodd seemed surprised, but nothing more
was said, and the three of us continued our journey together. In the
train I asked Dodd one more question which I wished our companion to
hear.

"You say that you saw your friend's face quite clearly at the window,
so clearly that you are sure of his identity?"

"I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose was pressed against the
glass. The lamplight shone full upon him."

"It could not have been someone resembling him?"

"No, no, it was he."

"But you say he was changed?"

"Only in colour. His face was--how shall I describe it?--it was of
a fish-belly whiteness. It was bleached."

"Was it equally pale all over?"

"I think not. It was his brow which I saw so clearly as it was pressed
against the window."

"Did you call to him?"

"I was too startled and horrified for the moment. Then I pursued him,
as I have told you, but without result."

My case was practically complete, and there was only one small incident
needed to round it off. When, after a considerable drive, we arrived at
the strange old rambling house which my client had described, it was
Ralph, the elderly butler, who opened the door. I had requisitioned the
carriage for the day and had asked my elderly friend to remain within
it unless we should summon him. Ralph, a little wrinkled old fellow,
was in the conventional costume of black coat and pepper-and-salt
trousers, with only one curious variant. He wore brown leather gloves,
which at sight of us he instantly shuffled off, laying them down on the
hall-table as we passed in. I have, as my friend Watson may have
remarked, an abnormally acute set of senses, and a faint but incisive
scent was apparent. It seemed to centre on the hall table. I turned,
placed my hat there, knocked it off, stooped to pick it up, and
contrived to bring my nose within a foot of the gloves. Yes, it was
undoubtedly from them that the curious tarry odour was oozing. I passed
on into the study with my case complete. Alas, that I should have to
show my hand so when I tell my own story! It was by concealing such
links in the chain that Watson was enabled to produce his meretricious
finales.

Colonel Emsworth was not in his room, but he came quickly enough on
receipt of Ralph's message. We heard his quick, heavy step in the
passage. The door was flung open and he rushed in with bristling beard
and twisted features, as terrible an old man as ever I have seen. He
held our cards in his hand, and he tore them up and stamped on the
fragments.

"Have I not told you, you infernal busybody, that you are warned off
the premises? Never dare to show your damned face here again. If you
enter again without my leave I shall be within my rights if I use
violence. I'll shoot you, sir! By God, I will! As to you, sir," turning
upon me, "I extend the same warning to you. I am familiar with your
ignoble profession, but you must take your reputed talents to some
other field. There is no opening for them here."

"I cannot leave here," said my client firmly, "until I hear from
Godfrey's own lips that he is under no restraint."

Our involuntary host rang the bell.

"Ralph," he said, "telephone down to the county police and ask the
inspector to send up two constables. Tell him there are burglars in the
house."

"One moment," said I. "You must be aware, Mr. Dodd, that Colonel
Emsworth is within his rights and that we have no legal status within
his house. On the other hand, he should recognize that your action is
prompted entirely by solicitude for his son. I venture to hope that if
I were allowed to have five minutes conversation with Colonel Emsworth
I could certainly alter his view of the matter."

"I am not so easily altered," said the old soldier. "Ralph, do what I
have told you. What the devil are you waiting for? Ring up the police!"

"Nothing of the sort," I said, putting my back to the door. "Any police
interference would bring about the very catastrophe which you dread." I
took out my notebook and scribbled one word upon a loose sheet. "That,"
said I as I handed it to Colonel Emsworth, "is what has brought us
here."

He stared at the writing with a face from which every expression save
amazement had vanished.

"How do you know?" he gasped, sitting down heavily in his chair.

"It is my business to know things. That is my trade."

He sat in deep thought, his gaunt hand tugging at his straggling beard.
Then he made a gesture of resignation.

"Well, if you wish to see Godfrey, you shall. It is no doing of mine,
but you have forced my hand. Ralph, tell Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Kent that
in five minutes we shall be with them."

At the end of that time we passed down the garden path and found
ourselves in front of the mystery house at the end. A small bearded man
stood at the door with a look of considerable astonishment upon his
face.

"This is very sudden, Colonel Emsworth," said he. "This will disarrange
all our plans."

"I can't help it, Mr. Kent. Our hands have been forced. Can Mr. Godfrey
see us?"

"Yes, he is waiting inside." He turned and led us into a large plainly
furnished front room. A man was standing with his back to the fire, and
at the sight of him my client sprang forward with outstretched hand.

"Why, Godfrey, old man, this is fine!"

But the other waved him back.

"Don't touch me, Jimmie. Keep your distance. Yes, you may well stare! I
don't quite look the smart Lance-Corporal Emsworth, of B Squadron, do
I?"

His appearance was certainly extraordinary. One could see that he had
indeed been a handsome man with clear-cut features sunburned by an
African sun, but mottled in patches over this darker surface were
curious whitish patches which had bleached his skin.

"That's why I don't court visitors," said he. "I don't mind you,
Jimmie, but I could have done without your friend. I suppose there is
some good reason for it, but you have me at a disadvantage."

"I wanted to be sure that all was well with you, Godfrey. I saw you
that night when you looked into my window, and I could not let the
matter rest till I had cleared things up."

"Old Ralph told me you were there, and I couldn't help taking a peep at
you. I hoped you would not have seen me, and I had to run to my burrow
when I heard the window go up."

"But what in heaven's name is the matter?"

"Well, it's not a long story to tell," said he, lighting a cigarette.
"You remember that morning fight at Buffelsspruit, outside Pretoria, on
the Eastern railway line? You heard I was hit?"

"Yes, I heard that but I never got particulars."

"Three of us got separated from the others. It was very broken country,
you may remember. There was Simpson--the fellow we called Baldy
Simpson--and Anderson, and I. We were clearing brother Boer, but he
lay low and got the three of us. The other two were killed. I got an
elephant bullet through my shoulder. I stuck on to my horse, however,
and he galloped several miles before I fainted and rolled off the
saddle.

"When I came to myself it was nightfall, and I raised myself up,
feeling very weak and ill. To my surprise there was a house close
beside me, a fairly large house with a broad stoep and many windows. It
was deadly cold. You remember the kind of numb cold which used to come
at evening, a deadly, sickening sort of cold, very different from a
crisp healthy frost. Well, I was chilled to the bone, and my only hope
seemed to lie in reaching that house. I staggered to my feet and
dragged myself along, hardly conscious of what I did. I have a dim
memory of slowly ascending the steps, entering a wide-opened door,
passing into a large room which contained several beds, and throwing
myself down with a gasp of satisfaction upon one of them. It was
unmade, but that troubled me not at all. I drew the clothes over my
shivering body and in a moment I was in a deep sleep.

"It was morning when I wakened, and it seemed to me that instead of
coming out into a world of sanity I had emerged into some extraordinary
nightmare. The African sun flooded through the big, curtainless
windows, and every detail of the great, bare, whitewashed dormitory
stood out hard and clear. In front of me was standing a small,
dwarf-like man with a huge, bulbous head, who was jabbering excitedly
in Dutch, waving two horrible hands which looked to me like brown
sponges. Behind him stood a group of people who seemed to be intensely
amused by the situation, but a chill came over me as I looked at them.
Not one of them was a normal human being. Every one was twisted or
swollen or disfigured in some strange way. The laughter of these
strange monstrosities was a dreadful thing to hear.

"It seemed that none of them could speak English, but the situation
wanted clearing up, for the creature with the big head was growing
furiously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, he had laid his
deformed hands upon me and was dragging me out of bed, regardless of
the fresh flow of blood from my wound. The little monster was as strong
as a bull, and I don't know what he might have done to me had not an
elderly man who was clearly in authority been attracted to the room by
the hubbub; He said a few stern words in Dutch, and my persecutor
shrank away. Then he turned upon me, gazing at me in the utmost
amazement.

"'How in the world did you come here?' he asked in amazement. 'Wait a
bit! I see that you are tired out and that wounded shoulder of yours
wants looking after. I am a doctor, and I'll soon have you tied up.
But, man alive! you are in far greater danger here than ever you were
on the battlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital, and you have slept
in a leper's bed.'

"Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in view of the approaching
battle all these poor creatures had been evacuated the day before.
Then, as the British advanced, they had been brought back by this,
their medical superintendent, who assured me that, though he believed
he was immune to the disease, he would none the less never have dared
to do what I had done. He put me in a private room, treated me kindly,
and within a week or so I was removed to the general hospital at
Pretoria.

"So there you have my tragedy. I hoped against hope, but it was not
until I had reached home that the terrible signs which you see upon my
face told me that I had not escaped. What was I to do? I was in this
lonely house. We had two servants whom we could utterly trust. There
was a house where I could live. Under pledge of secrecy, Mr. Kent, who
is a surgeon, was prepared to stay with me. It seemed simple enough on
those lines. The alternative was a dreadful one--segregation for life
among strangers with never a hope of release. But absolute secrecy was
necessary, or even in this quiet countryside there would have been an
outcry, and I should have been dragged to my horrible doom. Even you,
Jimmie--even you had to be kept in the dark. Why my father has
relented I cannot imagine."

Colonel Emsworth pointed to me.

"This is the gentleman who forced my hand." He unfolded the scrap of
paper on which I had written the word "Leprosy." "It seemed to me that
if he knew so much as that it was safer that he should know all."

"And so it was," said I. "Who knows but good may come of it? I
understand that only Mr. Kent has seen the patient. May I ask, sir, if
you are an authority on such complaints, which are, I understand,
tropical or semi-tropical in their nature?"

"I have the ordinary knowledge of the educated medical man," he
observed with some stiffness.

"I have no doubt, sir, that you are fully competent, but I am sure that
you will agree that in such a case a second opinion is valuable. You
have avoided this, I understand, for fear that pressure should be put
upon you to segregate the patient."

"That is so," said Colonel Emsworth.

"I foresaw this situation," I explained, "and I have brought with me a
friend whose discretion may absolutely be trusted. I was able once to
do him a professional service, and he is ready to advise as a friend
rather than as a specialist. His name is Sir James Saunders."

The prospect of an interview with Lord Roberts would not have excited
greater wonder and pleasure in a raw subaltern than was now reflected
upon the face of Mr. Kent.

"I shall indeed be proud," he murmured.

"Then I will ask Sir James to step this way. He is at present in the
carriage outside the door. Meanwhile, Colonel Emsworth, we may perhaps
assemble in your study, where I could give the necessary explanations."

And here it is that I miss my Watson. By cunning questions and
ejaculations of wonder he could elevate my simple art, which is but
systematized common sense, into a prodigy. When I tell my own story I
have no such aid. And yet I will give my process of thought even as I
gave it to my small audience, which included Godfrey's mother in the
study of Colonel Emsworth.

"That process," said I, "starts upon the supposition that when you have
eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however
improbable, must be the truth. It may well be that several explanations
remain, in which case one tries test after test until one or other of
them has a convincing amount of support. We will now apply this
principle to the case in point. As it was first presented to me, there
were three possible explanations of the seclusion or incarceration of
this gentleman in an outhouse of his father's mansion. There was the
explanation that he was in hiding for a crime, or that he was mad and
that they wished to avoid an asylum, or that he had some disease which
caused his segregation. I could think of no other adequate solutions.
These, then, had to be sifted and balanced against each other.

"The criminal solution would not bear inspection. No unsolved crime had
been reported from that district. I was sure of that. If it were some
crime not yet discovered, then clearly it would be to the interest of
the family to get rid of the delinquent and send him abroad rather than
keep him concealed at home. I could see no explanation for such a line
of conduct.

"Insanity was more plausible. The presence of the second person in the
outhouse suggested a keeper. The fact that he locked the door when he
came out strengthened the supposition and gave the idea of constraint.
On the other hand, this constraint could not be severe or the young man
could not have got loose and come down to have a look at his friend.
You will remember, Mr. Dodd, that I felt round for points, asking you,
for example, about the paper which Mr. Kent was reading. Had it been
the Lancet or the British Medical Journal it would have helped me. It
is not illegal, however, to keep a lunatic upon private premises so
long as there is a qualified person in attendance and that the
authorities have been duly notified. Why, then, all this desperate
desire for secrecy? Once again I could not get the theory to fit the
facts.

"There remained the third possibility, into which, rare and unlikely as
it was, everything seemed to fit. Leprosy is not uncommon in South
Africa. By some extraordinary chance this youth might have contracted
it. His people would be placed in a very dreadful position, since they
would desire to save him from segregation. Great secrecy would be
needed to prevent rumours from getting about and subsequent
interference by the authorities. A devoted medical man, if sufficiently
paid, would easily be found to take charge of the sufferer. There would
be no reason why the latter should not be allowed freedom after dark.
Bleaching of the skin is a common result of the disease. The case was a
strong one--so strong that I determined to act as if it were actually
proved. When on arriving here I noticed that Ralph, who carries out the
meals, had gloves which are impregnated with disinfectants, my last
doubts were removed. A single word showed you, sir, that your secret
was discovered, and if I wrote rather than said it, it was to prove to
you that my discretion was to be trusted."

I was finishing this little analysis of the case when the door was
opened and the austere figure of the great dermatologist was ushered
in. But for once his sphinx-like features had relaxed and there was a
warm humanity in his eyes. He strode up to Colonel Emsworth and shook
him by the hand.

"It is often my lot to bring ill-tidings and seldom good," said he.
"This occasion is the more welcome. It is not leprosy."

"What?"

"A well-marked case of pseudo-leprosy or ichthyosis, a scalelike
affection of the skin, unsightly, obstinate, but possibly curable, and
certainly noninfective. Yes, Mr. Holmes, the coincidence is a
remarkable one. But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forces at
work of which we know little? Are we assured that the apprehension from
which this young man has no doubt suffered terribly since his exposure
to its contagion may not produce a physical effect which simulates that
which it fears? At any rate, I pledge my professional reputation--But
the lady has fainted! I think that Mr. Kent had better be with her
until she recovers from this joyous shock."




THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE



It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidy
room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the
starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked round him at
the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of
chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle,
which contained of old the pipes and tobacco. Finally, his eyes came
round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young but very wise
and tactful page, who had helped a little to fill up the gap of
loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the
great detective.

"It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't change, either. I hope
the same can be said of him?"

Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of the bedroom.

"I think he's in bed and asleep," he said.

It was seven in the evening of a lovely summer's day, but Dr. Watson
was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his old friend's
hours to feel no surprise at the idea.

"That means a case, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm frightened for his
health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When will you
be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked. 'Seven-thirty, the
day after to-morrow,' said he. You know his way when he is keen on a
case."

"Yes, Billy, I know."

"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman looking for
a job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took me in, he did, and I
ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with a grin to a very
baggy parasol which leaned against the sofa. "That's part of the old
woman's outfit," he said.

"But what is it all about, Billy?"

Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. "I
don't mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther. It's this
case of the Crown diamond."

"What--the hundred-thousand-pound burglary?"

"Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the Prime Minister
and the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes was
very nice to them. He soon put them at their ease and promised he would
do all he could. Then there is Lord Cantlemere--"

"Ah!"

"Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a stiff'un, sir, if I may say
so. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I've nothing against
the Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but I
can't stand his Lordship. Neither can Mr. Holmes, sir. You see, he
don't believe in Mr. Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd
rather he failed."

"And Mr. Holmes knows it?"

"Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."

"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord Cantlemere will be
confounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across the
window?"

"Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got something
funny behind it."

Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcove of
the bow window.

Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a facsimile
of his old friend, dressing-gown and all, the face turned
three-quarters towards the window and downward, as though reading an
invisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billy
detached the head and held it in the air.

"We put it at different angles, so that it may seem more lifelike. I
wouldn't dare touch it if the blind were not down. But when it's up you
can see this from across the way."

"We used something of the sort once before."

"Before my time," said Billy. He drew the window curtains apart and
looked out into the street. "There are folk who watch us from over
yonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look for
yourself."

Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened, and the
long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but his
step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at the
window, and had drawn the blind once more.

"That will do, Billy," said he. "You were in danger of your life then,
my boy, and I can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it is good
to see you in your old quarters once again. You come at a critical
moment."

"So I gather."

"You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am I
justified in allowing him to be in danger?"

"Danger of what, Holmes?"

"Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening."

"Expecting what?"

"To be murdered, Watson."

"No, no, you are joking, Holmes!"

"Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than that.
But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is alcohol
permitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place. Let me see you
once more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope, learned to
despise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take the place of
food these days."

"But why not eat?"

"Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why,
surely, as a doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what your
digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the
brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix.
Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."

"But this danger, Holmes?"

"Ah. yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well that
you should burden your memory with the name and address of the
murderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love and a parting
blessing. Sylvius is the name--Count Negretto Sylvius. Write it down,
man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Got it?"

Watson's honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew only too well
the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what he said
was more likely to be under-statement than exaggeration. Watson was
always the man of action, and he rose to the occasion.

"Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two."

"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to your
other vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical man, with calls on
him every hour."

"Not such important ones. But can't you have this fellow arrested?"

"Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him so."

"But why don't you?"

"Because I don't know where the diamond is."

"Ah! Billy told me--the missing Crown jewel!"

"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have my
fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them? We
can make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But that
is not what I am out for. It's the stone I want."

"And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?"

"Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton the boxer.
Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sam's not a shark.
He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping about
in my net all the same."

"Where is this Count Sylvius?"

"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an old
lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up my
parasol for me once. 'By your leave, madame,' said he--half-ltalian,
you know, and with the Southern graces of manner when in the mood, but
a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsical
happenings, Watson."

"It might have been tragedy."

"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshop
in the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gun--a very pretty bit of
work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite window
at the present moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showed
it to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at any
moment. Ah, Billy, what is it?"

The boy had reappeared in the room with a card upon a tray. Holmes
glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

"The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson!
A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as a shooter
of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellent
sporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof that he
feels my toe very close behind his heel."

"Send for the police."

"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out of
the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the street?"

Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.

"Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door."

"That will be Sam Merton--the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Where
is this gentleman, Billy?"

"In the waiting-room, sir."

"Show him up when I ring."

"Yes, sir."

"If I am not in the room, show him in all the same."

"Yes, sir."

Watson waited until the door was closed, and then he turned earnestly
to his companion.

"Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is a desperate man,
who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murder you."

"I should not be surprised."

"I insist upon staying with you."

"You would be horribly in the way."

"In his way?"

"No, my dear fellow--in my way."

"Well, I can't possibly leave you."

"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to play
the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has come for
his own purpose, but he may stay for mine."

Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Take a cab to
Scotland Yard and give this to Youghal of the C. I. D. Come back with
the police. The fellow's arrest will follow."

"I'll do that with joy.

"Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where the
stone is." He touched the bell. "I think we will go out through the
bedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see
my shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, my
own way of doing it."

It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later,
ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, and
man-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable dark
moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long,
curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but his
brilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were flamboyant in
their effect. As the door closed behind him he looked round him with
fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Then
he gave a violent start as he saw the impassive head and the collar of
the dressing-gown which projected above the armchair in the window. At
first his expression was one of pure amazement. Then the light of a
horrible hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He took one more
glance round to see that there were no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe,
his thick stick half raised, he approached the silent figure. He was
crouching for his final spring and blow when a cool, sardonic voice
greeted him from the open bedroom door:

"Don't break it, Count! Don't break it!"

The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For an
instant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he would turn
his violence from the effigy to the original; but there was something
in that steady gray eye and mocking smile which caused his hand to sink
to his side.

"It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, advancing towards the image.
"Tavernier, the French modeller, made it. He is as good at waxworks as
your friend Straubenzee is at air-guns."

"Air-guns, sir! What do you mean?"

"Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat.
Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if you
prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for I
wanted badly to have a few minutes' chat with you."

The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.

"I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I am
here. I won't deny that I intended to assault you just now."

Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.

"I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head,"
said he. "But why these personal attentions?"

"Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you have
put your creatures upon my track."

"My creatures! I assure you no!"

"Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game,
Holmes."

"It is a small point, Count Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly give
me my prefix when you address me. You can understand that, with my
routine of work, I should find myself on familiar terms with half the
rogues' gallery, and you will agree that exceptions are invidious."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, then."

"Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken about my alleged agents."

Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously.

"Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an old
sporting man. To-day it was an elderly woman. They held me in view all
day."

"Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron Dowson said the night before
he was hanged that in my case what the law had gained the stage had
lost. And now you give my little impersonations your kindly praise?"

"It was you--you yourself?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see in the corner the parasol
which you so politely handed to me in the Minories before you began to
suspect."

"If I had known, you might never--"

"Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We all have
neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you did not know, so
here we are!"

The Count's knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacing eyes.
"What you say only makes the matter worse. It was not your agents but
your play-acting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me.
Why?"

"Come now, Count. You used to shoot lions in Algeria."

"Well?"

"But why?"

"Why? The sport--the excitement--the danger!"

"And, no doubt, to free the country from a pest?"

"Exactly!"

"My reasons in a nutshell!"

The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back to
his hip-pocket.

"Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. I
want that yellow diamond!"

Count Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile.

"Upon my word!" said he.

"You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you are
here to-night is to find out how much I know about the matter and how
far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from
your point of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all about
it, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me."

"Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?"

"Where the Crown diamond now is."

The Count looked sharply at his companion. "Oh, you want to know that,
do you? How the devil should I be able to lell you where it is?"

"You can, and you will."

"Indeed!"

"You can't bluff me, Count Sylvius." Holmes's eyes, as he gazed at him,
contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points of
steel. "You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back of your
mind."

"Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!"

Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisive
finger. "Then you do know. You have admitted it!"

"I admit nothing."

"Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, you
will get hurt."

Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. "And you talk about
bluff!" said he.

Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess-player who
meditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer and
drew out a squat notebook.

"Do you know what I keep in this book?"

"No, sir, I do not!"

"You!"

"Me!"

"Yes, sir, you! You are all here--every action of yor vile and
dangerous life."

"Damn you, Holmes!" cried the Count with blazing eyes. "There are
limits to my patience!"

"It's all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs.
Harold, who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidly gambled
away."

"You are dreaming!"

"And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender."

"Tut! You will make nothing of that!"

"Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the train de-luxe to
the Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forged check in the same
year on the Credit Lyonnais."

"No, you're wrong there."

"Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. When
the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your
hand."

"What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?"

"Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in
my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, I
have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case
of the Crown diamond."

"Indeed!"

"I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall and the cabman who brought
you away. I have the commissionaire who saw you near the case. I have
Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached, and
the game is up."

The veins stood out on the Count's forehead. His dark, hairy hands were
clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, but
the words would not shape themselves.

"That's the hand I play from," said Holmes. "I put it all upon the
table. But one card is missing. It's the king of diamonds. I don't know
where the stone is."

"You never shall know."

"No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You are going
to be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are you
going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand it
over--well, I'll compound a felony. We don't want you or Sam. We want
the stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free
so long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slip
well, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the
stone, not you."

"But if I refuse?"

"Why, then--alas!--it must be you and not the stone."

Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.

"I think, Count, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at
this conference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy,
you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him
to come up."

"If he won't come, sir?"

"No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell him that
Count Sylvius wants him he will certainly come."

"What are you going to do now?" asked the Count as Billy disappeared.

"My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a shark
and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they come
together."

The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back.
Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of his
dressing-gown.

"You won't die in your bed, Holmes."

"I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? Aher all,
Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular than
horizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not
give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?"

A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the
master criminal. Holmes's figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tense
and ready.

"It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend," he said in a
quiet voice. "You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even if
I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers, Count.
Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of your
estimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is
it not?"

The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate,
slab-sided face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with a
puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was a new experience, and
though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how to
counter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.

"What's the game now, Count? What's this fellow want? What's up?" His
voice was deep and raucous.

The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.

"If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all
up."

The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.

"Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funny mood
myself."

"No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I can promise you that you
will feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here,
Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going into
that bedroom. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You can
explain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of my
presence. I shall try over the Hoffman 'Barcarole' upon my violin. In
five minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the
alternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the
stone?"

Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. A
few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting
of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.

"What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to
him. "Does he know about the stone?"

"He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that he
doesn't know all about it."

"Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter.

"Ikey Sanders has split on us."

"He has, has he? I'll do him down a thick 'un for that if I swing for
it."

"That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what to do."

"Half a mo'," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door.
"He's a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?"

"How can he be listening with that music going?"

"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in
this room." As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time the
effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for
words.

"Tut! it's only a dummy," said the Count.

"A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain't in it. It's the
living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains Count!"

"Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none
too much. He can lag us over this stone."

"The deuce he can!"

"But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is."

"What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?"

"It's one or the other."

Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.

"He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we should
have nothing to fear."

The Count shook his head.

"He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a
place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police know
whatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?"

There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men
sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated
in the chair, the room was certainly empty.

"Something in the street," said Merton. "Now look here, guv'nor, you've
got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If slugging is no
use then it's up to you."

"I've fooled better men than he," the Count answered. "The stone is
here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be
out of England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before
Sunday. He knows nothing of Van Seddar."

"I thought Van Seddar was going next week."

"He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of us
must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him."

"But the false bottom ain't ready."

"Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There's not a moment to
lose." Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct with
the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was
surely from the street that the faint sound had come.

"As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool him easily enough. You see,
the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, we'll
promise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong track about it, and
before he finds that it is the wrong track it will be in Holland and we
out of the country."

"That sounds good to me!" cried Sam Merton with a grin.

"You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on him. I'll see this
sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell him that the
stone is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it gets on my
nerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Liverpool it will be in
quarters and we on the blue water. Come back here, out of a line with
that keyhole. Here is the stone."

"I wonder you dare carry it."

"Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out of Whitehall
someone else could surely take it out of my lodgings."

"Let's have a look at it."

Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate and
disregarded the unwashed hand which was extended towards him.

"What--d'ye think I'm going to snatch it off you? See here, mister,
I'm getting a bit tired of your ways."

"Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can't afford to quarrel. Come over to
the window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to the
light! Here!"

"Thank you!"

With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and had
grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his other
pointed a revolver at the Count's head. The two villains staggered back
in utter amazement. Before they had recovered Holmes had pressed the
electric bell.

"No violence, gentlemen--no violence, I beg of you! Consider the
furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an
impossible one. The police are waiting below."

The Count's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.

"But how the deuce--?" he gasped.

"Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second door
from my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must have
heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave
me a chance of listening to your racy conversation which would have
been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence."

The Count gave a gesture of resignation.

"We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself."

"Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes answered with a polite smile.

Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated the
situation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairs
outside, he broke silence at last.

"A fair cop!" said he. "But, I say, what about that bloomin' fiddle! I
hear it yet."

"Tut, tut!" Holmes answered. "You are perfectly right. Let it play!
These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention."

There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminals
were led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with Holmes,
congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more
their conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy with his
card-tray.

"Lord Cantlemere sir."

"Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer who represents the very
highest interests," said Holmes. "He is an excellent and loyal person,
but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we venture
upon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what has
occurred."

The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and
drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly
corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmes
advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.

"How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but
rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?"

"No, I thank you; I will not take it off."

Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.

"Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that these
changes of temperature are most insidious."

His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.

"I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply
looked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing."

"It is difficult--very difficult."

"I feared that you would find it so."

There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier's words and manner.

"Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us
of the weakness of self-satisfaction."

"Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed."

"No doubt."

"Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon

"You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had
your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you."

"You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the
actual thieves."

"When you have caught them."

"Exactly. But the question is--how shall we proceed against the
receiver?"

"Is this n