stories_text_dataset_md.txt

                       THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR

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

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

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

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

     He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

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

     "Not social, then?"

     "No, distinctly professional."

     "And from a noble client?"

     "One of the highest in England."

     "My dear fellow, I congratulate you."

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

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

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

     "Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."

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

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

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

     "He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour."

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

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

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

     "Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal
     column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back:

     "'A marriage has been arranged [it says] and will, if rumour is
     correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert St. Simon,
     second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, the only
     daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.'

     That is all."

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

     "There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers
     of the same week. Ah, here it is:

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

     "Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.

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

     "Before the what?" asked Holmes with a start.

     "The vanishing of the lady."

     "When did she vanish, then?"

     "At the wedding breakfast."

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

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

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

     "I warn you that they are very incomplete."

     "Perhaps we may make them less so."

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

     "'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the
     greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have
     taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as shortly
     announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous
     morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the
     strange rumours which have been so persistently floating about. In
     spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much
     public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be
     served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for
     conversation.
     "'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover Square,
     was a very quiet one, no one being present save the father of the
     bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater,
     Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the younger brother and sister
     of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia Whittington. The whole party
     proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster
     Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. It appears that some little
     trouble was caused by a woman, whose name has not been ascertained,
     who endeavoured to force her way into the house after the bridal
     party, alleging that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was
     only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the
     butler and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the
     house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast
     with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and
     retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some
     comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that she
     had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster
     and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the footmen
     declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus apparelled, but
     had refused to credit that it was his mistress, believing her to be
     with the company. On ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared,
     Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put
     themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic
     inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy
     clearing up of this very singular business. Up to a late hour last
     night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the
     missing lady. There are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is
     said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had
     caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or
     some other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange
     disappearance of the bride.'"

     "And is that all?"

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

     "And it is--"

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

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

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

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

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

     "No, I am descending."

     "I beg pardon."

     "My last client of the sort was a king."

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

     "The King of Scandinavia."

     "What! Had he lost his wife?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "Pray do so."

     "When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?"

     "In San Francisco, a year ago."

     "You were travelling in the States?"

     "Yes."

     "Did you become engaged then?"

     "No."

     "But you were on a friendly footing?"

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

     "Her father is very rich?"

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

     "And how did he make his money?"

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

     "Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--your wife's
     character?"

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

     "Have you her photograph?"

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

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

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

     "She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?"

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

     "And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a fait
     accompli?"

     "I really have made no inquiries on the subject."

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

     "Yes."

     "Was she in good spirits?"

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

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

     "She was as bright as possible--at least until after the ceremony."

     "And did you observe any change in her then?"

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

     "Pray let us have it, for all that."

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

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

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

     "This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends?"

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

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

     "I saw her in conversation with her maid."

     "And who is her maid?"

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

     "A confidential servant?"

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

     "How long did she speak to this Alice?"

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

     "You did not overhear what they said?"

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

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

     "She walked into the breakfast-room."

     "On your arm?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "Did your wife hear all this?"

     "No, thank goodness, she did not."

     "And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?"

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

     "Well, it is a possible supposition."

     "You think so, too?"

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

     "I do not think Flora would hurt a fly."

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

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

     "In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?"

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

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

     "We could see the other side of the road and the Park."

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

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

     "I have solved it."

     "Eh? What was that?"

     "I say that I have solved it."

     "Where, then, is my wife?"

     "That is a detail which I shall speedily supply."

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

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

     "My dear Holmes!"

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

     "But I have heard all that you have heard."

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

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

     "What's up, then?" asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. "You look
     dissatisfied."

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

     "Really! You surprise me."

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

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

     "Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine."

     "In heaven's name, what for?"

     "In search of the body of Lady St. Simon."

     Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

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

     "Why? What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

     "I think it very unlikely."

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

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

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

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

     "At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance."

     "I am afraid that you will find it difficult."

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

     "And how?"

     "In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the
     card-case is a note. And here is the very note." He slapped it down
     upon the table in front of him. "Listen to this:

     "'You will see me when all is ready. Come at once.
     "'F.H.M.'

     Now my theory all along has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away
     by Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was
     responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is
     the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the
     door and which lured her within their reach."

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

     "Ha! you find it so?"

     "Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly."

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

     "On the contrary, this is the right side."

     "The right side? You're mad! Here is the note written in pencil over
     here."

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

     "There's nothing in it. I looked at it before," said Lestrade.

     "'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.
     6d., glass sherry, 8d.' I see nothing in that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "You seem to expect company. They have laid for five."

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

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

     "My messenger reached you, then?" asked Holmes.

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

     "The best possible."

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

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

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

     "Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "You're angry, Robert," said she. "Well, I guess you have every cause
     to be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Then you won't forgive me? You won't shake hands before I go?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "You were not yourself at fault at all, then?"

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

     "And how in the world did you find them?"

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

     "How did you deduce the select?"

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

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

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

     "I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we
     sat down together to our breakfast one morning.

     "Go! Where to?"

     "To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."

     I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not
     already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one
     topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For
     a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin
     upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his
     pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of
     my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent
     up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a
     corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly well what it was over
     which he was brooding.  There was but one problem before the public
     which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the
     singular disappearance of the favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the
     tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced
     his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only
     what I had both expected and hoped for.

     "I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the
     way," said I.

     "My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming.
     And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points
     about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We
     have, I think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will
     go further into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by
     bringing with you your very excellent field-glass."

     And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the
     corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter,
     while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his
     ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh
     papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far
     behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and
     offered me his cigar-case.

     "We are going well," said he, looking out the window and glancing at
     his watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an
     hour."

     "I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.

     "Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards
     apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you have
     looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the
     disappearance of Silver Blaze?"

     "I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say."

     "It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be
     used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of
     fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of
     such personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering
     from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The
     difficulty is to detach the framework of fact--of absolute undeniable
     fact--from the embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then,
     having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to
     see what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon
     which the whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received
     telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and from
     Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my
     cooperation.

     "Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Why
     didn't you go down yesterday?"

     "Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I am afraid, a
     more common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me
     through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it
     possible that the most remarkable horse in England could long remain
     concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north
     of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I expected to hear that he
     had been found, and that his abductor was the murderer of John
     Straker. When, however, another morning had come, and I found that
     beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been done, I
     felt that it was time for me to take action. Yet in some ways I feel
     that yesterday has not been wasted."

     "You have formed a theory, then?"

     "At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I
     shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as
     stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your
     co-operation if I do not show you the position from which we start."

     I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes,
     leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the
     points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events
     which had led to our journey.

     "Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock, and holds as
     brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth
     year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to
     Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe
     he was the first favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three
     to one on him. He has always, however, been a prime favorite with the
     racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so that even at
     those odds enormous sums of money have been laid upon him. It is
     obvious, therefore, that there were many people who had the strongest
     interest in preventing Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of
     the flag next Tuesday.

     "The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where the
     Colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to
     guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey
     who rode in Colonel Ross's colors before he became too heavy for the
     weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey
     and for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a
     zealous and honest servant. Under him were three lads; for the
     establishment was a small one, containing only four horses in all.
     One of these lads sat up each night in the stable, while the others
     slept in the loft. All three bore excellent characters. John Straker,
     who is a married man, lived in a small villa about two hundred yards
     from the stables. He has no children, keeps one maid-servant, and is
     comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but about half a
     mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been
     built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others
     who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies
     two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two miles
     distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton, which
     belongs to Lord Backwater, and is managed by Silas Brown. In every
     other direction the moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by
     a few roaming gypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday
     night when the catastrophe occurred.

     "On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual,
     and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of the lads
     walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper in the
     kitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few
     minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the
     stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried mutton. She
     took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was
     the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. The maid
     carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and the path ran
     across the open moor.

     "Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man
     appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As he stepped
     into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he
     was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of
     tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick
     with a knob to it. She was most impressed, however, by the extreme
     pallor of his face and by the nervousness of his manner. His age, she
     thought, would be rather over thirty than under it.

     "'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost made up my
     mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of your lantern.'

     "'You are close to the King's Pyland training-stables,' said she.

     "'Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!' he cried. 'I understand that a
     stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper
     which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be
     too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?' He took a
     piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. 'See that
     the boy has this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock
     that money can buy.'

     "She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past
     him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals.
     It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table
     inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the
     stranger came up again.

     "'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'I wanted to
     have a word with you.' The girl has sworn that as he spoke she
     noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from his
     closed hand.

     "'What business have you here?' asked the lad.

     "'It's business that may put something into your pocket,' said the
     other. 'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup--Silver Blaze and
     Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won't be a loser. Is it
     a fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred
     yards in five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on
     him?'

     "'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'I'll show
     you how we serve them in King's Pyland.' He sprang up and rushed
     across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the
     house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was
     leaning through the window. A minute later, however, when Hunter
     rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round
     the buildings he failed to find any trace of him."

     "One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the
     dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?"

     "Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. "The
     importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special
     wire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy locked the
     door before he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough
     for a man to get through.

     "Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a
     message to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker was
     excited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have
     quite realized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely
     uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he
     was dressing. In reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not
     sleep on account of his anxiety about the horses, and that he
     intended to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. She
     begged him to remain at home, as she could hear the rain pattering
     against the window, but in spite of her entreaties he pulled on his
     large mackintosh and left the house.

     "Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband
     had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid,
     and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled
     together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor,
     the favorite's stall was empty, and there were no signs of his
     trainer.

     "The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the
     harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the
     night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under
     the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out
     of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two
     women ran out in search of the absentees. They still had hopes that
     the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse for early
     exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all
     the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs
     of the missing favorite, but they perceived something which warned
     them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.

     "About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker's overcoat
     was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a
     bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was
     found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been
     shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded
     on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently
     by some very sharp instrument. It was clear, however, that Straker
     had defended himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his
     right hand he held a small knife, which was clotted with blood up to
     the handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black silk cravat,
     which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the preceding
     evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. Hunter, on
     recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the
     ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the same
     stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried
     mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. As to the
     missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the
     bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at the time of the
     struggle. But from that morning he has disappeared, and although a
     large reward has been offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on
     the alert, no news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown
     that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an
     appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house
     partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.

     "Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and
     stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the
     police have done in the matter.

     "Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an
     extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination he
     might rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he
     promptly found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally
     rested. There was little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited
     one of those villas which I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was
     Fitzroy Simpson. He was a man of excellent birth and education, who
     had squandered a fortune upon the turf, and who lived now by doing a
     little quiet and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of London.
     An examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the amount of
     five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the favorite.
     On being arrested he volunteered the statement that he had come down
     to Dartmoor in the hope of getting some information about the King's
     Pyland horses, and also about Desborough, the second favorite, which
     was in charge of Silas Brown at the Mapleton stables. He did not
     attempt to deny that he had acted as described upon the evening
     before, but declared that he had no sinister designs, and had simply
     wished to obtain first-hand information. When confronted with his
     cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly unable to account for
     its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wet clothing showed
     that he had been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick,
     which was a Penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon
     as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to
     which the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no
     wound upon his person, while the state of Straker's knife would show
     that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him.
     There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me
     any light I shall be infinitely obliged to you."

     I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which
     Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though
     most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently
     appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to each
     other.

     "Is in not possible," I suggested, "that the incised wound upon
     Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive
     struggles which follow any brain injury?"

     "It is more than possible; it is probable," said Holmes. "In that
     case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears."

     "And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what the theory of
     the police can be."

     "I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections
     to it," returned my companion. "The police imagine, I take it, that
     this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way
     obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the
     horse, with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether.
     His bridle is missing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then,
     having left the door open behind him, he was leading the horse away
     over the moor, when he was either met or overtaken by the trainer. A
     row naturally ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his
     heavy stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which
     Straker used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the horse
     on to some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the
     struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors. That is the case as
     it appears to the police, and improbable as it is, all other
     explanations are more improbable still. However, I shall very quickly
     test the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until then I cannot
     really see how we can get much further than our present position."

     It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, which
     lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of
     Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station--the one a
     tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously
     penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very
     neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little
     side-whiskers and an eye-glass. The latter was Colonel Ross, the
     well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a man who was
     rapidly making his name in the English detective service.

     "I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes," said the
     Colonel. "The Inspector here has done all that could possibly be
     suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge
     poor Straker and in recovering my horse."

     "Have there been any fresh developments?" asked Holmes.

     "I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress," said the
     Inspector. "We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no
     doubt like to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it
     over as we drive."

     A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, and were
     rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory
     was full of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while
     Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross
     leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes,
     while I listened with interest to the dialogue of the two detectives.
     Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what
     Holmes had foretold in the train.

     "The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson," he remarked,
     "and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I
     recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some
     new development may upset it."

     "How about Straker's knife?"

     "We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his
     fall."

     "My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If
     so, it would tell against this man Simpson."

     "Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The
     evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great
     interest in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies under
     suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out
     in the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was
     found in the dead man's hand. I really think we have enough to go
     before a jury."

     Holmes shook his head. "A clever counsel would tear it all to rags,"
     said he. "Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he
     wished to injure it why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key
     been found in his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered
     opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a
     horse, and such a horse as this? What is his own explanation as to
     the paper which he wished the maid to give to the stable-boy?"

     "He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse.
     But your other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is
     not a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in
     the summer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key,
     having served its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at
     the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor."

     "What does he say about the cravat?"

     "He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lost it.
     But a new element has been introduced into the case which may account
     for his leading the horse from the stable."

     Holmes pricked up his ears.

     "We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on
     Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place.
     On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some
     understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have
     been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they
     not have him now?"

     "It is certainly possible."

     "The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined
     every stable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten
     miles."

     "There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?"

     "Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As
     Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an
     interest in the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, the
     trainer, is known to have had large bets upon the event, and he was
     no friend to poor Straker. We have, however, examined the stables,
     and there is nothing to connect him with the affair."

     "And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the
     Mapleton stables?"

     "Nothing at all."

     Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A
     few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick
     villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance
     off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. In every
     other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the
     fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the
     steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the
     westward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with
     the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyes
     fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own
     thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself
     with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.

     "Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him
     in some surprise. "I was day-dreaming." There was a gleam in his eyes
     and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as
     I was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not
     imagine where he had found it.

     "Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime,
     Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory.

     "I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one
     or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I
     presume?"

     "Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow."

     "He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?"

     "I have always found him an excellent servant."

     "I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in this pockets
     at the time of his death, Inspector?"

     "I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care
     to see them."

     "I should be very glad." We all filed into the front room and sat
     round the central table while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box
     and laid a small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas,
     two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of
     seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch
     with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case,
     a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate,
     inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co., London.

     "This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up and
     examining it minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it,
     that it is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson,
     this knife is surely in your line?"

     "It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.

     "I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work.
     A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition,
     especially as it would not shut in his pocket."

     "The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside his
     body," said the Inspector. "His wife tells us that the knife had lain
     upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the
     room. It was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay
     his hands on at the moment."

     "Very possible. How about these papers?"

     "Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. One of them is a
     letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner's
     account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier,
     of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that
     Derbyshire was a friend of her husband's and that occasionally his
     letters were addressed here."

     "Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," remarked Holmes,
     glancing down the account. "Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a
     single costume. However there appears to be nothing more to learn,
     and we may now go down to the scene of the crime."

     As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in
     the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the
     Inspector's sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped
     with the print of a recent horror.

     "Have you got them? Have you found them?" she panted.

     "No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help
     us, and we shall do all that is possible."

     "Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago,
     Mrs. Straker?" said Holmes.

     "No, sir; you are mistaken."

     "Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of
     dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming."

     "I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady.

     "Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes. And with an apology he
     followed the Inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us
     to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it
     was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.

     "There was no wind that night, I understand," said Holmes.

     "None; but very heavy rain."

     "In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but
     placed there."

     "Yes, it was laid across the bush."

     "You fill me with interest, I perceive that the ground has been
     trampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here since
     Monday night."

     "A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all
     stood upon that."

     "Excellent."

     "In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one of
     Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze."

     "My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!" Holmes took the bag, and,
     descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central
     position. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin
     upon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front
     of him. "Hullo!" said he, suddenly. "What's this?" It was a wax vesta
     half burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first
     like a little chip of wood.

     "I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the Inspector, with
     an expression of annoyance.

     "It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was
     looking for it."

     "What! You expected to find it?"

     "I thought it not unlikely."

     He took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions of each
     of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim
     of the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.

     "I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the Inspector. "I
     have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each
     direction."

     "Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not have the impertinence to
     do it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little
     walk over the moor before it grows dark, that I may know my ground
     to-morrow, and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket
     for luck."

     Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my
     companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his
     watch. "I wish you would come back with me, Inspector," said he.
     "There are several points on which I should like your advice, and
     especially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to remove our
     horse's name from the entries for the Cup."

     "Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision. "I should let the name
     stand."

     The Colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir,"
     said he. "You will find us at poor Straker's house when you have
     finished your walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock."

     He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly
     across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of
     Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with
     gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and
     brambles caught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape
     were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest
     thought.

     "It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may leave the question
     of who killed John Straker for the instant, and confine ourselves to
     finding out what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he
     broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to?
     The horse is a very gregarious creature. If left to himself his
     instincts would have been either to return to King's Pyland or go
     over to Mapleton. Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would
     surely have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him?
     These people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do
     not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not hope to sell
     such a horse. They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking
     him. Surely that is clear."

     "Where is he, then?"

     "I have already said that he must have gone to King's Pyland or to
     Mapleton. He is not at King's Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton.
     Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to.
     This part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very hard and
     dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here
     that there is a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very
     wet on Monday night. If our supposition is correct, then the horse
     must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look
     for his tracks."

     We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more
     minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes' request I
     walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not
     taken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw him waving
     his hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft
     earth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket
     exactly fitted the impression.

     "See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is the one quality
     which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon
     the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed."

     We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of
     dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the
     tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up
     once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first,
     and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man's
     track was visible beside the horse's.

     "The horse was alone before," I cried.

     "Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?"

     The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King's
     Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His
     eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side,
     and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the
     opposite direction.

     "One for you, Watson," said Holmes, when I pointed it out. "You have
     saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own
     traces. Let us follow the return track."

     We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up
     to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran
     out from them.

     "We don't want any loiterers about here," said he.

     "I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with his finger and
     thumb in his waistcoat pocket. "Should I be too early to see your
     master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o'clock to-morrow
     morning?"

     "Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is always the
     first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for
     himself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let him
     see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like."

     As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from
     his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate
     with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.

     "What's this, Dawson!" he cried. "No gossiping! Go about your
     business! And you, what the devil do you want here?"

     "Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in the
     sweetest of voices.

     "I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no stranger here. Be
     off, or you may find a dog at your heels."

     Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear.
     He started violently and flushed to the temples.

     "It's a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!"

     "Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in
     your parlor?"

     "Oh, come in if you wish to."

     Holmes smiled. "I shall not keep you more than a few minutes,
     Watson," said he. "Now, Mr. Brown, I am quite at your disposal."

     It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before
     Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as
     had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face
     was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his
     hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind.
     His bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed
     along at my companion's side like a dog with its master.

     "Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done," said he.

     "There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at him. The
     other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.

     "Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change
     it first or not?"

     Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No, don't,"
     said he; "I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or--"

     "Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"

     "Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow." He
     turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other
     held out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland.

     "A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master
     Silas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked Holmes as we trudged
     along together.

     "He has the horse, then?"

     "He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly
     what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that
     I was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes
     in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to
     them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a
     thing. I described to him how, when according to his custom he was
     the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor.
     How he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the
     white forehead which has given the favorite its name, that chance had
     put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which
     he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse had been
     to lead him back to King's Pyland, and how the devil had shown him
     how he could hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had
     led it back and concealed it at Mapleton. When I told him every
     detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin."

     "But his stables had been searched?"

     "Oh, and old horse-faker like him has many a dodge."

     "But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he
     has every interest in injuring it?"

     "My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows
     that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe."

     "Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show
     much mercy in any case."

     "The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods,
     and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of
     being unofficial. I don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but
     the Colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am
     inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing
     to him about the horse."

     "Certainly not without your permission."

     "And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the
     question of who killed John Straker."

     "And you will devote yourself to that?"

     "On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train."

     I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been a few
     hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation
     which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me.
     Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at the
     trainer's house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in
     the parlor.

     "My friend and I return to town by the night-express," said Holmes.
     "We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor
     air."

     The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip curled in a
     sneer.

     "So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker," said he.

     Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are certainly grave
     difficulties in the way," said he. "I have every hope, however, that
     your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your
     jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John
     Straker?"

     The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.

     "My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to
     wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to
     put to the maid."

     "I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant,"
     said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my friend left the room. "I do not see
     that we are any further than when he came."

     "At least you have his assurance that your horse will run," said I.

     "Yes, I have his assurance," said the Colonel, with a shrug of his
     shoulders. "I should prefer to have the horse."

     I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he
     entered the room again.

     "Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for Tavistock."

     As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door
     open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned
     forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.

     "You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who attends to
     them?"

     "I do, sir."

     "Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"

     "Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame,
     sir."

     I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and
     rubbed his hands together.

     "A long shot, Watson; a very long shot," said he, pinching my arm.
     "Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic
     among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"

     Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion
     which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw by the
     Inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused.

     "You consider that to be important?" he asked.

     "Exceedingly so."

     "Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?"

     "To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."

     "The dog did nothing in the night-time."

     "That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes.

     Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for
     Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by
     appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the
     course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold
     in the extreme.

     "I have seen nothing of my horse," said he.

     "I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?" asked Holmes.

     The Colonel was very angry. "I have been on the turf for twenty
     years, and never was asked such a question as that before," said he.
     "A child would know Silver Blaze, with his white forehead and his
     mottled off-foreleg."

     "How is the betting?"

     "Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to
     one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until
     you can hardly get three to one now."

     "Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows something, that is clear."

     As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand I glanced
     at the card to see the entries.

     Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs. added, for
     four and five year olds. Second, £300. Third, £200. New course (one
     mile and five furlongs).

     1. Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.
     2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket.
     3. Lord Backwater's Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.
     4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.
     5. Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes.
     6. Lord Singleford's Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.

     "We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word," said
     the Colonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?"

     "Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. "Five to four
     against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to
     four on the field!"

     "There are the numbers up," I cried. "They are all six there."

     "All six there? Then my horse is running," cried the Colonel in great
     agitation. "But I don't see him. My colors have not passed."

     "Only five have passed. This must be he."

     As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighting
     enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known
     black and red of the Colonel.

     "That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not a white
     hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?"

     "Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend,
     imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass.
     "Capital! An excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are,
     coming round the curve!"

     From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The
     six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered
     them, but half way up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the
     front. Before they reached us, however, Desborough's bolt was shot,
     and the Colonel's horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a
     good six lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris making
     a bad third.

     "It's my race, anyhow," gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his
     eyes. "I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't
     you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr.
     Holmes?"

     "Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round
     and have a look at the horse together. Here he is," he continued, as
     we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and
     their friends find admittance. "You have only to wash his face and
     his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old
     Silver Blaze as ever."

     "You take my breath away!"

     "I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running
     him just as he was sent over."

     "My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and
     well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand
     apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great
     service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if
     you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker."

     "I have done so," said Holmes quietly.

     The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You have got him!
     Where is he, then?"

     "He is here."

     "Here! Where?"

     "In my company at the present moment."

     The Colonel flushed angrily. "I quite recognize that I am under
     obligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must regard what you
     have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult."

     Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have not associated you
     with the crime, Colonel," said he. "The real murderer is standing
     immediately behind you." He stepped past and laid his hand upon the
     glossy neck of the thoroughbred.

     "The horse!" cried both the Colonel and myself.

     "Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was
     done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was
     entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as
     I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy
     explanation until a more fitting time."

     We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we
     whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one
     to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our
     companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the
     Dartmoor training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means by
     which he had unravelled them.

     "I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed from the
     newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were
     indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which
     concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction
     that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw
     that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while
     I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that
     the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You
     may remember that I was distrait, and remained sitting after you had
     all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly
     have overlooked so obvious a clue."

     "I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot see how it
     helps us."

     "It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by
     no means tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it is
     perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would
     undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. A curry was
     exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible
     supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry
     to be served in the trainer's family that night, and it is surely too
     monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along
     with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be
     served which would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable.
     Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention
     centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have
     chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The opium was added
     after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the others had
     the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them, then, had
     access to that dish without the maid seeing them?

     "Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the
     silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests
     others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the
     stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had fetched out a
     horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft.
     Obviously the midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well.

     "I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went
     down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver
     Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why
     should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know
     why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made sure
     of great sums of money by laying against their own horses, through
     agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it
     is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means.
     What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help
     me to form a conclusion.

     "And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which
     was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which certainly no sane man
     would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of
     knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in
     surgery. And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night.
     You must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel
     Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a
     horse's ham, and to do it subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely
     no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness, which
     would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism,
     but never to foul play."

     "Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the Colonel.

     "We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the
     horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly
     roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife.
     It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air."

     "I have been blind!" cried the Colonel. "Of course that was why he
     needed the candle, and struck the match."

     "Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough
     to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives.
     As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other
     people's bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite
     enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was
     leading a double life, and keeping a second establishment. The nature
     of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had
     expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can
     hardly expect that they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for
     their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her
     knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached
     her, I made a note of the milliner's address, and felt that by
     calling there with Straker's photograph I could easily dispose of the
     mythical Derbyshire.

     "From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a
     hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had
     dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up--with some idea,
     perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's leg. Once in
     the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but
     the creature frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange
     instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had
     lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the
     forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his
     overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his
     knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?"

     "Wonderful!" cried the Colonel. "Wonderful! You might have been
     there!"

     "My final shot was, I confess a very long one. It struck me that so
     astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate
     tendon-nicking without a little practice. What could he practice on?
     My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to
     my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct.

     "When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who had
     recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of
     Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for
     expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him
     over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot."

     "You have explained all but one thing," cried the Colonel. "Where was
     the horse?"

     "Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. We must
     have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction,
     if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten
     minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall
     be happy to give you any other details which might interest you."
     To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him
     mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and
     predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any
     emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one
     particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably
     balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and
     observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would
     have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer
     passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things
     for the observer--excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives
     and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions
     into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to
     introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his
     mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of
     his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong
     emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to
     him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and
     questionable memory.

     I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away
     from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred
     interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master
     of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention,
     while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole
     Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among
     his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and
     ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his
     own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study
     of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers
     of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those
     mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official
     police. From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings:
     of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his
     clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at
     Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so
     delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.
     Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared
     with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former
     friend and companion.

     One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was returning
     from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil
     practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the
     well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with
     my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was
     seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was
     employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit,
     and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in
     a dark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly,
     eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped
     behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude
     and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen
     out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new
     problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had
     formerly been in part my own.

     His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think,
     to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved
     me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a
     spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the
     fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.

     "Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that you have put
     on seven and a half pounds since I saw you."

     "Seven!" I answered.

     "Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I
     fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me
     that you intended to go into harness."

     "Then, how do you know?"

     "I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting
     yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and
     careless servant girl?"

     "My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly have
     been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had
     a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I
     have changed my clothes I can't imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary
     Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but
     there, again, I fail to see how you work it out."

     He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

     "It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the
     inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the
     leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have
     been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the
     edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you
     see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and
     that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the
     London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my
     rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver
     upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his
     top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be
     dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the
     medical profession."

     I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his
     process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," I
     remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously
     simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each successive
     instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain your
     process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good as yours."

     "Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself
     down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe. The
     distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps
     which lead up from the hall to this room."

     "Frequently."

     "How often?"

     "Well, some hundreds of times."

     "Then how many are there?"

     "How many? I don't know."

     "Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just
     my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have
     both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are interested in these
     little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or
     two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this." He
     threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been
     lying open upon the table. "It came by the last post," said he. "Read
     it aloud."

     The note was undated, and without either signature or address.

     "There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o'clock,"
     it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the
     very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses
     of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with
     matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.
     This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your
     chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor
     wear a mask."

     "This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imagine that it
     means?"

     "I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one
     has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories,
     instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you
     deduce from it?"

     I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was
     written.

     "The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked,
     endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper could
     not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong
     and stiff."

     "Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an English
     paper at all. Hold it up to the light."

     I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and a large
     "G" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper.

     "What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.

     "The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather."

     "Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for 'Gesellschaft,'
     which is the German for 'Company.' It is a customary contraction like
     our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for 'Papier.' Now for the 'Eg.' Let
     us glance at our Continental Gazetteer." He took down a heavy brown
     volume from his shelves. "Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is
     in a German-speaking country--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad.
     'Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for
     its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what
     do you make of that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue
     triumphant cloud from his cigarette.

     "The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.

     "Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note
     the peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of you we
     have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russian could not
     have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his
     verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this
     German who writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to
     showing his face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve
     all our doubts."

     As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and grating
     wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes
     whistled.

     "A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued, glancing out of
     the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred
     and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case, Watson, if
     there is nothing else."

     "I think that I had better go, Holmes."

     "Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.
     And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it."

     "But your client--"

     "Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes.
     Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention."

     A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in
     the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a
     loud and authoritative tap.

     "Come in!" said Holmes.

     A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six
     inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress
     was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as
     akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the
     sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue
     cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with
     flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which
     consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfway up
     his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur,
     completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by
     his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand,
     while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past
     the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted
     that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered.
     From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong
     character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin
     suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.

     "You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly
     marked German accent. "I told you that I would call." He looked from
     one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.

     "Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend and colleague,
     Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases.
     Whom have I the honour to address?"

     "You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I
     understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and
     discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme
     importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you
     alone."

     I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back
     into my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You may say before
     this gentleman anything which you may say to me."

     The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin," said he,
     "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of
     that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not
     too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence
     upon European history."

     "I promise," said Holmes.

     "And I."

     "You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "The
     august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you,
     and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called
     myself is not exactly my own."

     "I was aware of it," said Holmes dryly.

     "The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to
     be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and
     seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak
     plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein,
     hereditary kings of Bohemia."

     "I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settling himself down in
     his armchair and closing his eyes.

     Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,
     lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as
     the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes
     slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic
     client.

     "If your Majesty would condescend to state your case," he remarked,
     "I should be better able to advise you."

     The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in
     uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he
     tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. "You are
     right," he cried; "I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal
     it?"

     "Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty had not spoken before I
     was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von
     Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of
     Bohemia."

     "But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting down once
     more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, "you can
     understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own
     person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to
     an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito
     from Prague for the purpose of consulting you."

     "Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.

     "The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy
     visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known
     adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you."

     "Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmes without
     opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing
     all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to
     name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish
     information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between
     that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written
     a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.

     "Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.
     Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of
     Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quite
     so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young
     person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of
     getting those letters back."

     "Precisely so. But how--"

     "Was there a secret marriage?"

     "None."

     "No legal papers or certificates?"

     "None."

     "Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should
     produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to
     prove their authenticity?"

     "There is the writing."

     "Pooh, pooh! Forgery."

     "My private note-paper."

     "Stolen."

     "My own seal."

     "Imitated."

     "My photograph."

     "Bought."

     "We were both in the photograph."

     "Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an
     indiscretion."

     "I was mad--insane."

     "You have compromised yourself seriously."

     "I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now."

     "It must be recovered."

     "We have tried and failed."

     "Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought."

     "She will not sell."

     "Stolen, then."

     "Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her
     house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has
     been waylaid. There has been no result."

     "No sign of it?"

     "Absolutely none."

     Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," said he.

     "But a very serious one to me," returned the King reproachfully.

     "Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?"

     "To ruin me."

     "But how?"

     "I am about to be married."

     "So I have heard."

     "To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King
     of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She
     is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my
     conduct would bring the matter to an end."

     "And Irene Adler?"

     "Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know
     that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of
     steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind
     of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another
     woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go--none."

     "You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"

     "I am sure."

     "And why?"

     "Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the
     betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday."

     "Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes with a yawn. "That is
     very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look
     into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London
     for the present?"

     "Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the
     Count Von Kramm."

     "Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress."

     "Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."

     "Then, as to money?"

     "You have carte blanche."

     "Absolutely?"

     "I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to
     have that photograph."

     "And for present expenses?"

     The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and
     laid it on the table.

     "There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes,"
     he said.

     Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed
     it to him.

     "And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked.

     "Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."

     Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he. "Was the
     photograph a cabinet?"

     "It was."

     "Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have
     some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he added, as the
     wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If you will be
     good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock I should
     like to chat this little matter over with you."





          CHAPTER II



     At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not
     yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house
     shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down beside the
     fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he
     might be. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though
     it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were
     associated with the two crimes which I have already recorded, still,
     the nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it
     a character of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the
     investigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his
     masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning,
     which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to
     follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most
     inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success
     that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my
     head.

     It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking
     groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and
     disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my
     friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three
     times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he
     vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes
     tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his
     pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed
     heartily for some minutes.

     "Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until
     he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.

     "What is it?"

     "It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed
     my morning, or what I ended by doing."

     "I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits,
     and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler."

     "Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,
     however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning
     in the character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful
     sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you
     will know all that there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is
     a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front
     right up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large
     sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows
     almost to the floor, and those preposterous English window fasteners
     which a child could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable, save
     that the passage window could be reached from the top of the
     coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closely from every
     point of view, but without noting anything else of interest.

     "I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there
     was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I
     lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in
     exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag
     tobacco, and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler,
     to say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in
     whom I was not in the least interested, but whose biographies I was
     compelled to listen to."

     "And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.

     "Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is the
     daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the
     Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts,
     drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner.
     Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one
     male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and
     dashing, never calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is a
     Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See the advantages of a
     cabman as a confidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from
     Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. When I had listened to all
     they had to tell, I began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once
     more, and to think over my plan of campaign.

     "This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter.
     He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between
     them, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client,
     his friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably
     transferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less
     likely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should
     continue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the
     gentleman's chambers in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it
     widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these
     details, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are
     to understand the situation."

     "I am following you closely," I answered.

     "I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove
     up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably
     handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently the man of
     whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the
     cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with
     the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.

     "He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses
     of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down,
     talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing.
     Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he
     stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and
     looked at it earnestly, 'Drive like the devil,' he shouted, 'first to
     Gross & Hankey's in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St.
     Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty
     minutes!'

     "Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do
     well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the
     coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear,
     while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles.
     It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it.
     I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely
     woman, with a face that a man might die for.

     "'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried, 'and half a sovereign
     if you reach it in twenty minutes.'

     "This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing
     whether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her
     landau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked twice at
     such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. 'The
     Church of St. Monica,' said I, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it
     in twenty minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of
     course it was clear enough what was in the wind.

     "My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but the
     others were there before us. The cab and the landau with their
     steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the
     man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there save the
     two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be
     expostulating with them. They were all three standing in a knot in
     front of the altar. I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler
     who has dropped into a church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at
     the altar faced round to me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard
     as he could towards me.

     "'Thank God,' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'

     "'What then?' I asked.

     "'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be legal.'

     "I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I
     found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and
     vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting
     in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton,
     bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman
     thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the
     clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous
     position in which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the
     thought of it that started me laughing just now. It seems that there
     had been some informality about their license, that the clergyman
     absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort, and
     that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally
     out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a
     sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the
     occasion."

     "This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "and what then?"

     "Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the
     pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very
     prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church door,
     however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to
     her own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as usual,' she
     said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove away in different
     directions, and I went off to make my own arrangements."

     "Which are?"

     "Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing the bell.
     "I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier
     still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your
     co-operation."

     "I shall be delighted."

     "You don't mind breaking the law?"

     "Not in the least."

     "Nor running a chance of arrest?"

     "Not in a good cause."

     "Oh, the cause is excellent!"

     "Then I am your man."

     "I was sure that I might rely on you."

     "But what is it you wish?"

     "When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to
     you. Now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our
     landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not
     much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the
     scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her
     drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."

     "And what then?"

     "You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.
     There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not
     interfere, come what may. You understand?"

     "I am to be neutral?"

     "To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small
     unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed
     into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room
     window will open. You are to station yourself close to that open
     window."

     "Yes."

     "You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."

     "Yes."

     "And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what I
     give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire.
     You quite follow me?"

     "Entirely."

     "It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long cigar-shaped
     roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket,
     fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task
     is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be
     taken up by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of
     the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have
     made myself clear?"

     "I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at
     the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire,
     and to wait you at the corner of the street."

     "Precisely."

     "Then you may entirely rely on me."

     "That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I
     prepare for the new role I have to play."

     He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the
     character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman.
     His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his
     sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent
     curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It
     was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his
     manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he
     assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute
     reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.

     It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still
     wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine
     Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as
     we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming
     of its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from
     Sherlock Holmes' succinct description, but the locality appeared to
     be less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street
     in a quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a
     group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a
     scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with
     a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up
     and down with cigars in their mouths.

     "You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the
     house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph
     becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be
     as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is
     to its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is--Where
     are we to find the photograph?"

     "Where, indeed?"

     "It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is
     cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress.
     She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid and
     searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We may
     take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her."

     "Where, then?"

     "Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am
     inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they
     like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone
     else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell
     what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a
     business man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it
     within a few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It
     must be in her own house."

     "But it has twice been burgled."

     "Pshaw! They did not know how to look."

     "But how will you look?"

     "I will not look."

     "What then?"

     "I will get her to show me."

     "But she will refuse."

     "She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her
     carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."

     As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round the
     curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to
     the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at
     the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a
     copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up
     with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was
     increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the
     loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the
     other side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the lady, who had
     stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed
     and struggling men, who struck savagely at each other with their
     fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady;
     but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground,
     with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the
     guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in
     the other, while a number of better-dressed people, who had watched
     the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady
     and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call
     her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her
     superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back
     into the street.

     "Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.

     "He is dead," cried several voices.

     "No, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "But he'll be gone
     before you can get him to hospital."

     "He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would have had the lady's
     purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and a
     rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing now."

     "He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"

     "Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable
     sofa. This way, please!"

     Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out in
     the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my
     post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not
     been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do
     not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for
     the part he was playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily
     ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature
     against whom I was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which
     she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest
     treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had
     intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from
     under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We
     are but preventing her from injuring another.

     Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who
     is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At
     the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the signal I tossed
     my rocket into the room with a cry of "Fire!" The word was no sooner
     out of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and
     ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and servant-maids--joined in a general
     shriek of "Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and
     out at the open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a
     moment later the voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it
     was a false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way
     to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find
     my friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He
     walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had
     turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the Edgeware
     Road.

     "You did it very nicely, Doctor," he remarked. "Nothing could have
     been better. It is all right."

     "You have the photograph?"

     "I know where it is."

     "And how did you find out?"

     "She showed me, as I told you she would."

     "I am still in the dark."

     "I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "The matter was
     perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was
     an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening."

     "I guessed as much."

     "Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the
     palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my
     face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick."

     "That also I could fathom."

     "Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else
     could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room
     which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was
     determined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air,
     they were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance."

     "How did that help you?"

     "It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire,
     her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most.
     It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once
     taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington substitution
     scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle
     business. A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches
     for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had
     nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest
     of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably
     done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel.
     She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a
     sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. She was there in an
     instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I
     cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the
     rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose,
     and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether
     to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had
     come in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to wait.
     A little over-precipitance may ruin all."

     "And now?" I asked.

     "Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King
     to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be
     shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable
     that when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It
     might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his own
     hands."

     "And when will you call?"

     "At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall have a
     clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a
     complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King
     without delay."

     We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was
     searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:

     "Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."

     There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the
     greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had
     hurried by.

     "I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring down the dimly
     lit street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been."





          CHAPTER III



     I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our
     toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into
     the room.

     "You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by
     either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.

     "Not yet."

     "But you have hopes?"

     "I have hopes."

     "Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."

     "We must have a cab."

     "No, my brougham is waiting."

     "Then that will simplify matters." We descended and started off once
     more for Briony Lodge.

     "Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.

     "Married! When?"

     "Yesterday."

     "But to whom?"

     "To an English lawyer named Norton."

     "But she could not love him."

     "I am in hopes that she does."

     "And why in hopes?"

     "Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If
     the lady loves her husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she
     does not love your Majesty, there is no reason why she should
     interfere with your Majesty's plan."

     "It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my own station!
     What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a moody silence,
     which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.

     The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon
     the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the
     brougham.

     "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.

     "I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with a
     questioning and rather startled gaze.

     "Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left
     this morning with her husband by the 5.15 train from Charing Cross
     for the Continent."

     "What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and
     surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?"

     "Never to return."

     "And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely. "All is lost."

     "We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed into the
     drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was
     scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open
     drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her
     flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding
     shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a
     letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress,
     the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till
     called for." My friend tore it open and we all three read it
     together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding night and ran in
     this way:

     "My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes:
     "You really did it very well. You took me in completely. Until after
     the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I found how
     I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had been warned against
     you months ago. I had been told that if the King employed an agent it
     would certainly be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with
     all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I
     became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind
     old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress
     myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of
     the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you,
     ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call them, and came
     down just as you departed.
     "Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was
     really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
     Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for
     the Temple to see my husband.
     "We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so
     formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you
     call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace.
     I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do what he
     will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep
     it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will
     always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. I
     leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear
     Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
     "Very truly yours,
     "Irene Norton, née Adler."

     "What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when we
     had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and
     resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it
     not a pity that she was not on my level?"

     "From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a very
     different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I am sorry
     that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business to a more
     successful conclusion."

     "On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing could be
     more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is
     now as safe as if it were in the fire."

     "I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."

     "I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can
     reward you. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from his
     finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.

     "Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly,"
     said Holmes.

     "You have but to name it."

     "This photograph!"

     The King stared at him in amazement.

     "Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."

     "I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the
     matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." He bowed,
     and, turning away without observing the hand which the King had
     stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers.

     And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of
     Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by
     a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women,
     but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene
     Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the
     honourable title of the woman.
                           THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY

     We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid
     brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this
     way:

     "Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from
     the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall
     be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave
     Paddington by the 11.15."
     "What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "Will
     you go?"

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

     "Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a
     little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and
     you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases."

     "I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through
     one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once,
     for I have only half an hour."

     My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect
     of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and
     simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my
     valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was
     pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even
     gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and
     close-fitting cloth cap.

     "It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It makes a
     considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can
     thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else
     biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the
     tickets."

     We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers
     which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read,
     with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past
     Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and
     tossed them up onto the rack.

     "Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

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

     "The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been
     looking through all the recent papers in order to master the
     particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple
     cases which are so extremely difficult."

     "That sounds a little paradoxical."

     "But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue.
     The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult
     it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established
     a very serious case against the son of the murdered man."

     "It is a murder, then?"

     "Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted
     until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will
     explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to
     understand it, in a very few words.

     "Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in
     Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr.
     John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years
     ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of
     Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an
     ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that
     it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should
     do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the
     richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it
     seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently
     together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an
     only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living.
     They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English
     families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys
     were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of
     the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.
     Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least.
     That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now
     for the facts.

     "On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at
     Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the
     Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of
     the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with
     his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that
     he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at
     three. From that appointment he never came back alive.

     "From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a
     mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was
     an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William
     Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these
     witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper
     adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had
     seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under
     his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight
     at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the
     matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had
     occurred.

     "The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the
     game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded
     round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A
     girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the
     lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods
     picking flowers. She states that while she was there she saw, at the
     border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son,
     and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr.
     McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw
     the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so
     frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother
     when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling
     near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to
     fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came
     running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in
     the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was much
     excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and
     sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following him
     they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the
     pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and
     blunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been
     inflicted by the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on
     the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances
     the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful
     murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on
     Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred
     the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as
     they came out before the coroner and the police-court."

     "I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "If ever
     circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here."

     "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes
     thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but
     if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it
     pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely
     different. It must be confessed, however, that the case looks
     exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that
     he is indeed the culprit. There are several people in the
     neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughter of
     the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who
     have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the
     Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his interest. Lestrade,
     being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is
     that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an
     hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."

     "I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you will
     find little credit to be gained out of this case."

     "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he answered,
     laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious
     facts which may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You
     know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall
     either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite
     incapable of employing, or even of understanding. To take the first
     example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the
     window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr.
     Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that."

     "How on earth--"

     "My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which
     characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this season you
     shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less
     complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes
     positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is
     surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other.
     I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an
     equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this
     as a trivial example of observation and inference. Therein lies my
     métier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the
     investigation which lies before us. There are one or two minor points
     which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth
     considering."

     "What are they?"

     "It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the
     return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing
     him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to
     hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. This observation
     of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which
     might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury."

     "It was a confession," I ejaculated.

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

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

     "On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I can
     at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could
     not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances
     were very black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own
     arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as
     highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be
     natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best
     policy to a scheming man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks
     him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable
     self-restraint and firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it
     was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead
     body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very
     day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and
     even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to
     raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and contrition
     which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a
     healthy mind rather than of a guilty one."

     I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far slighter
     evidence," I remarked.

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

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

     "It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though
     there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find
     it here, and may read it for yourself."

     He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire
     paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph
     in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of
     what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the
     carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way:

     "Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called
     and gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for three
     days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last
     Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at the time of my
     arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had driven over to
     Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard the
     wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw
     him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware
     in which direction he was going. I then took my gun and strolled out
     in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting
     the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw
     William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence;
     but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had
     no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards from
     the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual signal between
     my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing
     by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked
     me rather roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensued which
     led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a
     very violent temper. Seeing that his passion was becoming
     ungovernable, I left him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had
     not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry
     behind me, which caused me to run back again. I found my father
     expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured. I dropped
     my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired. I
     knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr.
     Turner's lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for
     assistance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have
     no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a popular man, being
     somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I
     know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'
     "The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he
     died?
     "Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some
     allusion to a rat.
     "The Coroner: What did you understand by that?
     "Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was
     delirious.
     "The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had
     this final quarrel?
     "Witness: I should prefer not to answer.
     "The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.
     "Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure
     you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.
     "The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point out
     to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case
     considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.
     "Witness: I must still refuse.
     "The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common
     signal between you and your father?
     "Witness: It was.
     "The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you,
     and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?
     "Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.
     "A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when
     you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally
     injured?
     "Witness: Nothing definite.
     "The Coroner: What do you mean?
     "Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the
     open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a
     vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground
     to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a
     coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I
     looked round for it, but it was gone.
     "'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'
     "'Yes, it was gone.'
     "'You cannot say what it was?'
     "'No, I had a feeling something was there.'
     "'How far from the body?'
     "'A dozen yards or so.'
     "'And how far from the edge of the wood?'
     "'About the same.'
     "'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards
     of it?'
     "'Yes, but with my back towards it.'
     "This concluded the examination of the witness."

     "I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in
     his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He
     calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father
     having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to
     give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular
     account of his father's dying words. They are all, as he remarks,
     very much against the son."

     Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the
     cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,"
     said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the young man's
     favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having
     too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not
     invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the
     jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness
     anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of
     the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the
     point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see
     whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket
     Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are
     on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall
     be there in twenty minutes."

     It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the
     beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found
     ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean,
     ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the
     platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings
     which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no
     difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we
     drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for
     us.

     "I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of
     tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy
     until you had been on the scene of the crime."

     "It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It is
     entirely a question of barometric pressure."

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

     "How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in
     the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and
     the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel
     abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the
     carriage to-night."

     Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed
     your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as plain
     as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes.
     Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive
     one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I
     repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I
     had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the
     door."

     He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the
     most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet
     eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all
     thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement
     and concern.

     "Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other
     of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my
     companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to
     tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want
     you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt
     upon that point. We have known each other since we were little
     children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too
     tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who
     really knows him."

     "I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes.  "You
     may rely upon my doing all that I can."

     "But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do
     you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that
     he is innocent?"

     "I think that it is very probable."

     "There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly
     at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."

     Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has
     been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said.

     "But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it.
     And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why
     he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was
     concerned in it."

     "In what way?" asked Holmes.

     "It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many
     disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there
     should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each
     other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen
     very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish to
     do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am
     sure, was one of them."

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

     "No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour
     of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot
     one of his keen, questioning glances at her.

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

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

     "The doctor?"

     "Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years
     back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his
     bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous
     system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had
     known dad in the old days in Victoria."

     "Ha! In Victoria! That is important."

     "Yes, at the mines."

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

     "Yes, certainly."

     "Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me."

     "You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will
     go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him
     that I know him to be innocent."

     "I will, Miss Turner."

     "I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I
     leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She
     hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard
     the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.

     "I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few
     minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound
     to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel."

     "I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes.
     "Have you an order to see him in prison?"

     "Yes, but only for you and me."

     "Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still
     time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"

     "Ample."

     "Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow,
     but I shall only be away a couple of hours."

     I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the
     streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I
     lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed
     novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared
     to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my
     attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I
     at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a
     consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy
     young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what
     absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred
     between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,
     drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something
     terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the
     injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell
     and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim
     account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated
     that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half
     of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt
     weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must
     have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of
     the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his
     father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might
     have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth
     while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar
     dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be
     delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become
     delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he
     met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to
     find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey
     cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must
     have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his
     flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it
     away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned
     not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities
     the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet
     I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose
     hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction
     of young McCarthy's innocence.

     It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for
     Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.

     "The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down. "It is
     of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over
     the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and
     keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when
     fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy."

     "And what did you learn from him?"

     "Nothing."

     "Could he throw no light?"

     "None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who
     had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that
     he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted
     youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart."

     "I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that
     he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this
     Miss Turner."

     "Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,
     insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only
     a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five
     years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the
     clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office?
     No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening
     it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give
     his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible.
     It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up
     into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading
     him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means
     of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very
     hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth.
     It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in
     Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point.
     It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the
     barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and
     likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to
     him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so
     that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of
     news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered."

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

     "Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two
     points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone
     at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for
     his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The
     second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he
     knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon
     which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if
     you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow."

     There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke
     bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the
     carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool.

     "There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is said
     that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired
     of."

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

     "About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life
     abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This
     business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of
     McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have
     learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."

     "Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.

     "Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about
     here speaks of his kindness to him."

     "Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this
     McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been
     under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his
     son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate,
     and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case
     of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange,
     since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The
     daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?"

     "We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade,
     winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes,
     without flying away after theories and fancies."

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

     "Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult
     to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth.

     "And that is--"

     "That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all
     theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."

     "Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,
     laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm
     upon the left."

     "Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building,
     two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon
     the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however,
     gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still
     lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes'
     request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his
     death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had
     then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight
     different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from
     which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.

     Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as
     this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker
     Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed and
     darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his
     eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was
     bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the
     veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils
     seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his
     mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a
     question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only
     provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he
     made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by
     way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as
     is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon
     the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side.
     Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he
     made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked
     behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I
     watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction
     that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end.

     The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some
     fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley
     Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods
     which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting
     pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling. On
     the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there
     was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the
     edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed
     us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so
     moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had
     been left by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see
     by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be
     read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking
     up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.

     "What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.

     "I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or
     other trace. But how on earth--"

     "Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its
     inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there
     it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been
     had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed
     all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and
     they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body.
     But here are three separate tracks of the same feet." He drew out a
     lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking
     all the time rather to himself than to us. "These are young
     McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so
     that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That
     bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground.
     Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is
     this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening.
     And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too,
     quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of course
     that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran up and
     down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were
     well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great
     beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way
     to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with
     a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there,
     turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to
     me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only
     the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A
     jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully
     examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood
     until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.

     "It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked, returning
     to his natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house on the right
     must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with
     Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may
     drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be
     with you presently."

     It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back
     into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had
     picked up in the wood.

     "This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out.  "The
     murder was done with it."

     "I see no marks."

     "There are none."

     "How do you know, then?"

     "The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days.
     There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds
     with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon."

     "And the murderer?"

     "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears
     thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars,
     uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket.
     There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid
     us in our search."

     Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he said.
     "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed
     British jury."

     "Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your own method,
     and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall
     probably return to London by the evening train."

     "And leave your case unfinished?"

     "No, finished."

     "But the mystery?"

     "It is solved."

     "Who was the criminal, then?"

     "The gentleman I describe."

     "But who is he?"

     "Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a
     populous neighbourhood."

     Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said,
     "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a
     left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the
     laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."

     "All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance. Here
     are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave."

     Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we
     found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought
     with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a
     perplexing position.

     "Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit
     down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't
     know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar
     and let me expound."

     "Pray do so."

     "Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young
     McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they
     impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that
     his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!' before
     seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He
     mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught
     the son's ear. Now from this double point our research must commence,
     and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is
     absolutely true."

     "What of this 'Cooee!' then?"

     "Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son,
     as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was
     within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of
     whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But 'Cooee' is a
     distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians.
     There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected
     to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia."

     "What of the rat, then?"

     Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it
     out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria," he said.
     "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his hand over part of
     the map. "What do you read?"

     "ARAT," I read.

     "And now?" He raised his hand.

     "BALLARAT."

     "Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son
     only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name
     of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."

     "It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.

     "It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down
     considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point
     which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty.
     We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of
     an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak."

     "Certainly."

     "And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be
     approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly
     wander."

     "Quite so."

     "Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground
     I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade,
     as to the personality of the criminal."

     "But how did you gain them?"

     "You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles."

     "His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of
     his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces."

     "Yes, they were peculiar boots."

     "But his lameness?"

     "The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his
     left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--he was
     lame."

     "But his left-handedness."

     "You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by
     the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately
     behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless
     it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during
     the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I
     found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes
     enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know,
     devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the
     ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette
     tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the
     stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar,
     of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam."

     "And the cigar-holder?"

     "I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he
     used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut
     was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."

     "Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man from which he
     cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as
     if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in
     which all this points. The culprit is--"

     "Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our
     sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.

     The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow,
     limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude,
     and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs
     showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of
     character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding,
     drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his
     appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and
     the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was
     clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and
     chronic disease.

     "Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had my note?"

     "Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see
     me here to avoid scandal."

     "I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."

     "And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at my companion
     with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already
     answered.

     "Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "It is
     so. I know all about McCarthy."

     The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried. "But
     I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word
     that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes."

     "I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.

     "I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would
     break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears that I am
     arrested."

     "It may not come to that," said Holmes.

     "What?"

     "I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who
     required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young
     McCarthy must be got off, however."

     "I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes for years.
     My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I
     would rather die under my own roof than in a jail."

     Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a
     bundle of paper before him. "Just tell us the truth," he said. "I
     shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can
     witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last
     extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use
     it unless it is absolutely needed."

     "It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether I shall
     live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to
     spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it
     has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to
     tell.

     "You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I
     tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he.
     His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my
     life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power.

     "It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap then,
     hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got
     among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took
     to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a
     highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of
     it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons
     on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I
     went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the
     Ballarat Gang.

     "One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we
     lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six
     of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles
     at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before
     we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who
     was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him
     then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on
     my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the
     gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without
     being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to
     settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate,
     which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little
     good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it.
     I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear
     little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to
     lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word,
     I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All
     was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.

     "I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent
     Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.

     "'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as
     good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you
     can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine, law-abiding
     country is England, and there's always a policeman within hail.'

     "Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them
     off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since.
     There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I
     would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew
     worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her
     knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have,
     and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses,
     until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for
     Alice.

     "His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was
     known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his
     lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I
     would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any
     dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I
     stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We
     were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over.

     "When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked
     a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I
     listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to
     come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as
     little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off
     the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most
     dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap
     the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of
     mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed.
     But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence
     that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply
     as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But
     that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was
     more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction
     than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought
     back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was
     forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my
     flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred."

     "Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old man
     signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that we may
     never be exposed to such a temptation."

     "I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"

     "In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you
     will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the
     Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I
     shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal
     eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe
     with us."

     "Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own deathbeds,
     when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which
     you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all his giant
     frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.

     "God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fate play
     such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as
     this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, 'There, but for
     the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'"

     James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a
     number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted
     to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our
     interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the
     son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of
     the black cloud which rests upon their past.
                            THE STOCK-BROKER'S CLERK

     Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington
     district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time
     an excellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the
     nature of St. Vitus's dance from which he suffered, had very much
     thinned it. The public not unnaturally goes on the principle that he
     who would heal others must himself be whole, and looks askance at the
     curative powers of the man whose own case is beyond the reach of his
     drugs. Thus as my predecessor weakened his practice declined, until
     when I purchased it from him it had sunk from twelve hundred to
     little more than three hundred a year. I had confidence, however, in
     my own youth and energy, and was convinced that in a very few years
     the concern would be as flourishing as ever.

     For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very
     closely at work, and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I
     was too busy to visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere
     himself save upon professional business. I was surprised, therefore,
     when, one morning in June, as I sat reading the British Medical
     Journal after breakfast, I heard a ring at the bell, followed by the
     high, somewhat strident tones of my old companion's voice.

     "Ah, my dear Watson," said he, striding into the room, "I am very
     delighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered
     from all the little excitements connected with our adventure of the
     Sign of Four."

     "Thank you, we are both very well," said I, shaking him warmly by the
     hand.

     "And I hope, also," he continued, sitting down in the rocking-chair,
     "that the cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated the
     interest which you used to take in our little deductive problems."

     "On the contrary," I answered, "it was only last night that I was
     looking over my old notes, and classifying some of our past results."

     "I trust that you don't consider your collection closed."

     "Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some more of
     such experiences."

     "To-day, for example?"

     "Yes, to-day, if you like."

     "And as far off as Birmingham?"

     "Certainly, if you wish it."

     "And the practice?"

     "I do my neighbor's when he goes. He is always ready to work off the
     debt."

     "Ha! Nothing could be better," said Holmes, leaning back in his chair
     and looking keenly at me from under his half closed lids. "I perceive
     that you have been unwell lately. Summer colds are always a little
     trying."

     "I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last
     week. I thought, however, that I had cast off every trace of it."

     "So you have. You look remarkably robust."

     "How, then, did you know of it?"

     "My dear fellow, you know my methods."

     "You deduced it, then?"

     "Certainly."

     "And from what?"

     "From your slippers."

     I glanced down at the new patent leathers which I was wearing. "How
     on earth--" I began, but Holmes answered my question before it was
     asked.

     "Your slippers are new," he said. "You could not have had them more
     than a few weeks. The soles which you are at this moment presenting
     to me are slightly scorched. For a moment I thought they might have
     got wet and been burned in the drying. But near the instep there is a
     small circular wafer of paper with the shopman's hieroglyphics upon
     it. Damp would of course have removed this. You had, then, been
     sitting with our feet outstretched to the fire, which a man would
     hardly do even in so wet a June as this if he were in his full
     health."

     Like all Holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself when
     it was once explained. He read the thought upon my features, and his
     smile had a tinge of bitterness.

     "I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain," said he.
     "Results without causes are much more impressive. You are ready to
     come to Birmingham, then?"

     "Certainly. What is the case?"

     "You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in a
     four-wheeler. Can you come at once?"

     "In an instant." I scribbled a note to my neighbor, rushed upstairs
     to explain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the
     door-step.

     "Your neighbor is a doctor," said he, nodding at the brass plate.

     "Yes; he bought a practice as I did."

     "An old-established one?"

     "Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houses were
     built."

     "Ah! Then you got hold of the best of the two."

     "I think I did. But how do you know?"

     "By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches deeper than his.
     But this gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Pycroft. Allow
     me to introduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabby, for we have
     only just time to catch our train."

     The man whom I found myself facing was a well built,
     fresh-complexioned young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a
     slight, crisp, yellow mustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a
     neat suit of sober black, which made him look what he was--a smart
     young City man, of the class who have been labeled cockneys, but who
     give us our crack volunteer regiments, and who turn out more fine
     athletes and sportsmen than any body of men in these islands. His
     round, ruddy face was naturally full of cheeriness, but the corners
     of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled down in a half-comical
     distress. It was not, however, until we were all in a first-class
     carriage and well started upon our journey to Birmingham that I was
     able to learn what the trouble was which had driven him to Sherlock
     Holmes.

     "We have a clear run here of seventy minutes," Holmes remarked. "I
     want you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your very interesting
     experience exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail if
     possible. It will be of use to me to hear the succession of events
     again. It is a case, Watson, which may prove to have something in it,
     or may prove to have nothing, but which, at least, presents those
     unusual and outré features which are as dear to you as they are to
     me. Now, Mr. Pycroft, I shall not interrupt you again."

     Our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

     "The worst of the story is," said he, "that I show myself up as such
     a confounded fool. Of course it may work out all right, and I don't
     see that I could have done otherwise; but if I have lost my crib and
     get nothing in exchange I shall feel what a soft Johnnie I have been.
     I'm not very good at telling a story, Dr. Watson, but it is like this
     with me:

     "I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouse's, of Draper's Gardens,
     but they were let in early in the spring through the Venezuelan loan,
     as no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. I had been with
     them five years, and old Coxon gave me a ripping good testimonial
     when the smash came, but of course we clerks were all turned adrift,
     the twenty-seven of us. I tried here and tried there, but there were
     lots of other chaps on the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect
     frost for a long time. I had been taking three pounds a week at
     Coxon's, and I had saved about seventy of them, but I soon worked my
     way through that and out at the other end. I was fairly at the end of
     my tether at last, and could hardly find the stamps to answer the
     advertisements or the envelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my
     boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemed just as far from
     getting a billet as ever.

     "At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williams's, the great
     stock-broking firm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. is not much in
     your line, but I can tell you that this is about the richest house in
     London. The advertisement was to be answered by letter only. I sent
     in my testimonial and application, but without the least hope of
     getting it. Back came an answer by return, saying that if I would
     appear next Monday I might take over my new duties at once, provided
     that my appearance was satisfactory. No one knows how these things
     are worked. Some people say that the manager just plunges his hand
     into the heap and takes the first that comes. Anyhow it was my
     innings that time, and I don't ever wish to feel better pleased. The
     screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties just about the same as
     at Coxon's.

     "And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in diggings
     out Hampstead way, 17 Potter's Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing a
     smoke that very evening after I had been promised the appointment,
     when up came my landlady with a card which had "Arthur Pinner,
     Financial Agent," printed upon it. I had never heard the name before
     and could not imagine what he wanted with me; but, of course, I asked
     her to show him up. In he walked, a middle-sized, dark-haired,
     dark-eyed, black-bearded man, with a touch of the sheeny about his
     nose. He had a brisk kind of way with him and spoke sharply, like a
     man who knew the value of time.

     "'Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?' said he.

     "'Yes, sir,' I answered, pushing a chair towards him.

     "'Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse's?'

     "'Yes, sir.'

     "'And now on the staff of Mawson's.'

     "'Quite so.'

     "'Well,' said he, 'the fact is that I have heard some really
     extraordinary stories about your financial ability. You remember
     Parker, who used to be Coxon's manager? He can never say enough about
     it.'

     "Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been pretty sharp
     in the office, but I had never dreamed that I was talked about in the
     City in this fashion.

     "'You have a good memory?' said he.

     "'Pretty fair,' I answered, modestly.

     "'Have you kept in touch with the market while you have been out of
     work?' he asked.

     "'Yes. I read the stock exchange list every morning.'

     "'Now that shows real application!' he cried. 'That is the way to
     prosper! You won't mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. How are
     Ayrshires?'

     "'A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and
     seven-eighths.'

     "'And New Zealand consolidated?'

     "'A hundred and four.'

     "'And British Broken Hills?'

     "'Seven to seven-and-six.'

     "'Wonderful!' he cried, with his hands up. 'This quite fits in with
     all that I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to
     be a clerk at Mawson's!'

     "This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. 'Well,' said
     I, 'other people don't think quite so much of me as you seem to do,
     Mr. Pinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this berth, and I am
     very glad to have it.'

     "'Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your true
     sphere. Now, I'll tell you how it stands with me. What I have to
     offer is little enough when measured by your ability, but when
     compared with Mawson's, it's light to dark. Let me see. When do you
     go to Mawson's?'

     "'On Monday.'

     "'Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you
     don't go there at all.'

     "'Not go to Mawson's?'

     "'No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of the
     Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hundred and
     thirty-four branches in the towns and villages of France, not
     counting one in Brussels and one in San Remo.'

     "This took my breath away. 'I never heard of it,' said I.

     "'Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet, for the capital was
     all privately subscribed, and it's too good a thing to let the public
     into. My brother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins the board
     after allotment as managing director. He knew I was in the swim down
     here, and asked me to pick up a good man cheap. A young, pushing man
     with plenty of snap about him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought
     me here tonight. We can only offer you a beggarly five hundred to
     start with.'

     "'Five hundred a year!' I shouted.

     "'Only that at the beginning; but you are to have an overriding
     commission of one per cent on all business done by your agents, and
     you may take my word for it that this will come to more than your
     salary.'

     "'But I know nothing about hardware.'

     "'Tut, my boy; you know about figures.'

     "My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still in my chair. But
     suddenly a little chill of doubt came upon me.

     "'I must be frank with you,' said I. 'Mawson only gives me two
     hundred, but Mawson is safe. Now, really, I know so little about your
     company that--'

     "'Ah, smart, smart!' he cried, in a kind of ecstasy of delight. 'You
     are the very man for us. You are not to be talked over, and quite
     right, too. Now, here's a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think
     that we can do business you may just slip it into your pocket as an
     advance upon your salary.'

     "'That is very handsome,' said I. 'When should I take over my new
     duties?'

     "'Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one,' said he. 'I have a note in my
     pocket here which you will take to my brother. You will find him at
     126b Corporation Street, where the temporary offices of the company
     are situated. Of course he must confirm your engagement, but between
     ourselves it will be all right.'

     "'Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner,'
     said I.

     "'Not at all, my boy. You have only got your desserts. There are one
     or two small things--mere formalities--which I must arrange with you.
     You have a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly write upon it "I am
     perfectly willing to act as business manager to the Franco-Midland
     Hardware Company, Limited, at a minimum salary of £500."'

     "I did as he asked, and he put the paper in his pocket.

     "'There is one other detail,' said he. 'What do you intend to do
     about Mawson's?'

     "I had forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy. 'I'll write and
     resign,' said I.

     "'Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a row over you with
     Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and he was very
     offensive; accused me of coaxing you away from the service of the
     firm, and that sort of thing. At last I fairly lost my temper. "If
     you want good men you should pay them a good price," said I.

     "'"He would rather have our small price than your big one," said he.

     "'"I'll lay you a fiver," said I, "that when he has my offer you'll
     never so much as hear from him again."

     "'"Done!" said he. "We picked him out of the gutter, and he won't
     leave us so easily." Those were his very words.'

     "'The impudent scoundrel!' I cried. 'I've never so much as seen him
     in my life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly
     not write if you would rather I didn't.'

     "'Good! That's a promise,' said he, rising from his chair. 'Well, I'm
     delighted to have got so good a man for my brother. Here's your
     advance of a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. Make a note of
     the address, 126b Corporation Street, and remember that one o'clock
     to-morrow is your appointment. Good-night; and may you have all the
     fortune that you deserve!'

     "That's just about all that passed between us, as near as I can
     remember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at such an
     extraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half the night hugging
     myself over it, and next day I was off to Birmingham in a train that
     would take me in plenty time for my appointment. I took my things to
     a hotel in New Street, and then I made my way to the address which
     had been given me.

     "It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought that would
     make no difference. 126b was a passage between two large shops, which
     led to a winding stone stair, from which there were many flats, let
     as offices to companies or professional men. The names of the
     occupants were painted at the bottom on the wall, but there was no
     such name as the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited. I stood
     for a few minutes with my heart in my boots, wondering whether the
     whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and
     addressed me. He was very like the chap I had seen the night before,
     the same figure and voice, but he was clean shaven and his hair was
     lighter.

     "'Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?' he asked.

     "'Yes,' said I.

     "'Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your time. I
     had a note from my brother this morning in which he sang your praises
     very loudly.'

     "'I was just looking for the offices when you came.'

     "'We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured these
     temporary premises last week. Come up with me, and we will talk the
     matter over.'

     "I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there, right
     under the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms,
     uncarpeted and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought of a
     great office with shining tables and rows of clerks, such as I was
     used to, and I dare say I stared rather straight at the two deal
     chairs and one little table, which, with a ledger and a waste paper
     basket, made up the whole furniture.

     "'Don't be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft,' said my new acquaintance,
     seeing the length of my face. 'Rome was not built in a day, and we
     have lots of money at our backs, though we don't cut much dash yet in
     offices. Pray sit down, and let me have your letter.'

     "I gave it to him, and her read it over very carefully.

     "'You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother Arthur,'
     said he; 'and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. He swears by
     London, you know; and I by Birmingham; but this time I shall follow
     his advice. Pray consider yourself definitely engaged.'

     "'What are my duties?' I asked.

     "'You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will
     pour a flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred and
     thirty-four agents in France. The purchase will be completed in a
     week, and meanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make yourself
     useful.'

     "'How?'

     "For answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer.

     "'This is a directory of Paris,' said he, 'with the trades after the
     names of the people. I want you to take it home with you, and to mark
     off all the hardware sellers, with their addresses. It would be of
     the greatest use to me to have them.'

     "'Surely there are classified lists?' I suggested.

     "'Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at
     it, and let me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr.
     Pycroft. If you continue to show zeal and intelligence you will find
     the company a good master.'

     "I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and with
     very conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I was
     definitely engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on the
     other, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the wall, and
     other of the points which would strike a business man had left a bad
     impression as to the position of my employers. However, come what
     might, I had my money, so I settled down to my task. All Sunday I was
     kept hard at work, and yet by Monday I had only got as far as H. I
     went round to my employer, found him in the same dismantled kind of
     room, and was told to keep at it until Wednesday, and then come
     again. On Wednesday it was still unfinished, so I hammered away until
     Friday--that is, yesterday. Then I brought it round to Mr. Harry
     Pinner.

     "'Thank you very much,' said he; 'I fear that I underrated the
     difficulty of the task. This list will be of very material assistance
     to me.'

     "'It took some time,' said I.

     "'And now,' said he, 'I want you to make a list of the furniture
     shops, for they all sell crockery.'

     "'Very good.'

     "'And you can come up to-morrow evening, at seven, and let me know
     how you are getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A couple of hours at
     Day's Music Hall in the evening would do you no harm after your
     labors.' He laughed as he spoke, and I saw with a thrill that his
     second tooth upon the left-hand side had been very badly stuffed with
     gold."

     Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared with
     astonishment at our client.

     "You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson; but it is this way," said
     he: "When I was speaking to the other chap in London, at the time
     that he laughed at my not going to Mawson's, I happened to notice
     that his tooth was stuffed in this very identical fashion. The glint
     of the gold in each case caught my eye, you see. When I put that with
     the voice and figure being the same, and only those things altered
     which might be changed by a razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it
     was the same man. Of course you expect two brothers to be alike, but
     not that they should have the same tooth stuffed in the same way. He
     bowed me out, and I found myself in the street, hardly knowing
     whether I was on my head or my heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my
     head in a basin of cold water, and tried to think it out. Why had he
     sent me from London to Birmingham? Why had he got there before me?
     And why had he written a letter from himself to himself? It was
     altogether too much for me, and I could make no sense of it. And then
     suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me might be very light to
     Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up to town by the night
     train to see him this morning, and to bring you both back with me to
     Birmingham."

     There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded his
     surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me,
     leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face,
     like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet
     vintage.

     "Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he. "There are points in it
     which please me. I think that you will agree with me that an
     interview with Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of
     the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, would be a rather
     interesting experience for both of us."

     "But how can we do it?" I asked.

     "Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft, cheerily. "You are two
     friends of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more
     natural than that I should bring you both round to the managing
     director?"

     "Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should like to have a look at
     the gentleman, and see if I can make anything of his little game.
     What qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services so
     valuable? Or is it possible that--" He began biting his nails and
     staring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word
     from him until we were in New Street.

     At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down
     Corporation Street to the company's offices.

     "It is no use our being at all before our time," said our client. "He
     only comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up
     to the very hour he names."

     "That is suggestive," remarked Holmes.

     "By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk. "That's he walking ahead
     of us there."

     He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling
     along the other side of the road. As we watched him he looked across
     at a boy who was bawling out the latest edition of the evening paper,
     and running over among the cabs and busses, he bought one from him.
     Then, clutching it in his hand, he vanished through a door-way.

     "There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft. "These are the company's offices
     into which he has gone. Come with me, and I'll fix it up as easily as
     possible."

     Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found
     ourselves outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. A
     voice within bade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room
     such as Hall Pycroft had described. At the single table sat the man
     whom we had seen in the street, with his evening paper spread out in
     front of him, and as he looked up at us it seemed to me that I had
     never looked upon a face which bore such marks of grief, and of
     something beyond grief--of a horror such as comes to few men in a
     lifetime. His brow glistened with perspiration, his cheeks were of
     the dull, dead white of a fish's belly, and his eyes were wild and
     staring. He looked at his clerk as though he failed to recognize him,
     and I could see by the astonishment depicted upon our conductor's
     face that this was by no means the usual appearance of his employer.

     "You look ill, Mr. Pinner!" he exclaimed.

     "Yes, I am not very well," answered the other, making obvious efforts
     to pull himself together, and licking his dry lips before he spoke.
     "Who are these gentlemen whom you have brought with you?"

     "One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price, of
     this town," said our clerk, glibly. "They are friends of mine and
     gentlemen of experience, but they have been out of a place for some
     little time, and they hoped that perhaps you might find an opening
     for them in the company's employment."

     "Very possibly! Very possibly!" cried Mr. Pinner with a ghastly
     smile. "Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something
     for you. What is your particular line, Mr. Harris?"

     "I am an accountant," said Holmes.

     "Ah yes, we shall want something of the sort. And you, Mr. Price?"

     "A clerk," said I.

     "I have every hope that the company may accommodate you. I will let
     you know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I beg
     that you will go. For God's sake leave me to myself!"

     These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint which
     he was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burst
     asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall Pycroft took a
     step towards the table.

     "You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to receive
     some directions from you," said he.

     "Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly," the other resumed in a calmer
     tone. "You may wait here a moment; and there is no reason why your
     friends should not wait with you. I will be entirely at your service
     in three minutes, if I might trespass upon your patience so far." He
     rose with a very courteous air, and, bowing to us, he passed out
     through a door at the farther end of the room, which he closed behind
     him.

     "What now?" whispered Holmes. "Is he giving us the slip?"

     "Impossible," answered Pycroft.

     "Why so?"

     "That door leads into an inner room."

     "There is no exit?"

     "None."

     "Is it furnished?"

     "It was empty yesterday."

     "Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don't
     understand in his manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with
     terror, that man's name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on
     him?"

     "He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested.

     "That's it," cried Pycroft.

     Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He was pale when we
     entered the room," said he. "It is just possible that--"

     His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of
     the inner door.

     "What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried the clerk.

     Again and much louder cam the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly
     at the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid,
     and he leaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a low
     guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmes
     sprang frantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was
     fastened on the inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves
     upon it with all our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and
     down came the door with a crash. Rushing over it, we found ourselves
     in the inner room. It was empty.

     But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one corner,
     the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second
     door. Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat
     were lying on the floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his
     own braces round his neck, was hanging the managing director of the
     Franco-Midland Hardware Company. His knees were drawn up, his head
     hung at a dreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of his heels
     against the door made the noise which had broken in upon our
     conversation. In an instant I had caught him round the waist, and
     held him up while Holmes and Pycroft untied the elastic bands which
     had disappeared between the livid creases of skin. Then we carried
     him into the other room, where he lay with a clay-colored face,
     puffing his purple lips in and out with every breath--a dreadful
     wreck of all that he had been but five minutes before.

     "What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.

     I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble and
     intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little
     shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball
     beneath.

     "It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll live now.
     Just open that window, and hand me the water carafe." I undid his
     collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his
     arms until he drew a long, natural breath. "It's only a question of
     time now," said I, as I turned away from him.

     Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trouser's
     pockets and his chin upon his breast.

     "I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he. "And yet I
     confess that I'd like to give them a complete case when they come."

     "It's a blessed mystery to me," cried Pycroft, scratching his head.
     "Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and
     then--"

     "Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes impatiently. "It is
     this last sudden move."

     "You understand the rest, then?"

     "I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson?"

     I shrugged my shoulders. "I must confess that I am out of my depths,"
     said I.

     "Oh surely if you consider the events at first they can only point to
     one conclusion."

     "What do you make of them?"

     "Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is the
     making of Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service
     of this preposterous company. Do you not see how very suggestive that
     is?"

     "I am afraid I miss the point."

     "Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business matter, for
     these arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly
     business reason why this should be an exception. Don't you see, my
     young friend, that they were very anxious to obtain a specimen of
     your handwriting, and had no other way of doing it?"

     "And why?"

     "Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have made some progress with
     our little problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason.
     Someone wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had to procure a
     specimen of it first. And now if we pass on to the second point we
     find that each throws light upon the other. That point is the request
     made by Pinner that you should not resign your place, but should
     leave the manager of this important business in the full expectation
     that a Mr. Hall Pycroft, whom he had never seen, was about to enter
     the office upon the Monday morning."

     "My God!" cried our client, "what a blind beetle I have been!"

     "Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that some one
     turned up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from
     that in which you had applied for the vacancy, of course the game
     would have been up. But in the interval the rogue had learned to
     imitate you, and his position was therefore secure, as I presume that
     nobody in the office had ever set eyes upon you."

     "Not a soul," groaned Hall Pycroft.

     "Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to prevent you
     from thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into
     contact with any one who might tell you that your double was at work
     in Mawson's office. Therefore they gave you a handsome advance on
     your salary, and ran you off to the Midlands, where they gave you
     enough work to do to prevent your going to London, where you might
     have burst their little game up. That is all plain enough."

     "But why should this man pretend to be his own brother?"

     "Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only two of
     them in it. The other is impersonating you at the office. This one
     acted as your engager, and then found that he could not find you an
     employer without admitting a third person into his plot. That he was
     most unwilling to do. He changed his appearance as far as he could,
     and trusted that the likeness, which you could not fail to observe,
     would be put down to a family resemblance. But for the happy chance
     of the gold stuffing, your suspicions would probably never have been
     aroused."

     Hall Pycroft shook his clinched hands in the air. "Good Lord!" he
     cried, "while I have been fooled in this way, what has this other
     Hall Pycroft been doing at Mawson's? What should we do, Mr. Holmes?
     Tell me what to do."

     "We must wire to Mawson's."

     "They shut at twelve on Saturdays."

     "Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendant--"

     "Ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value of
     the securities that they hold. I remember hearing it talked of in the
     City."

     "Very good; we shall wire to him, and see if all is well, and if a
     clerk of your name is working there. That is clear enough; but what
     is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should
     instantly walk out of the room and hang himself."

     "The paper!" croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting up,
     blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and hands
     which rubbed nervously at the broad red band which still encircled
     his throat.

     "The paper! Of course!" yelled Holmes, in a paroxysm of excitement.
     "Idiot that I was! I thought so must of our visit that the paper
     never entered my head for an instant. To be sure, the secret must be
     there." He flattened it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph
     burst from his lips. "Look at this, Watson," he cried. "It is a
     London paper, an early edition of the Evening Standard. Here is what
     we want. Look at the headlines: 'Crime in the City. Murder at Mawson
     & Williams's. Gigantic attempted Robbery. Capture of the Criminal.'
     Here, Watson, we are all equally anxious to hear it, so kindly read
     it aloud to us."

     It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event
     of importance in town, and the account of it ran in this way:

     "A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man
     and the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in the City.
     For some time back Mawson & Williams, the famous financial house,
     have been the guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate
     to a sum of considerably over a million sterling. So conscious was
     the manager of the responsibility which devolved upon him in
     consequence of the great interests at stake that safes of the very
     latest construction have been employed, and an armed watchman has
     been left day and night in the building. It appears that last week a
     new clerk named Hall Pycroft was engaged by the firm. This person
     appears to have been none other that Beddington, the famous forger
     and cracksman, who, with his brother, had only recently emerged from
     a five years' spell of penal servitude. By some means, which are not
     yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false name, this official
     position in the office, which he utilized in order to obtain moulding
     of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position of the
     strong room and the safes.
     "It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on
     Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City Police, was somewhat surprised,
     therefore to see a gentleman with a carpet bag come down the steps at
     twenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant
     followed the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollack succeeded,
     after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at once
     clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. Nearly a
     hundred thousand pounds' worth of American railway bonds, with a
     large amount of scrip in mines and other companies, was discovered in
     the bag. On examining the premises the body of the unfortunate
     watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the
     safes, where it would not have been discovered until Monday morning
     had it not been for the prompt action of Sergeant Tuson. The man's
     skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from
     behind. There could be no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance
     by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having
     murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made
     off with his booty. His brother, who usually works with him, has not
     appeared in this job as far as can at present be ascertained,
     although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his
     whereabouts."

     "Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction,"
     said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window.
     "Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a
     villain and murderer can inspire such affection that his brother
     turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. However,
     we have no choice as to our action. The doctor and I will remain on
     guard, Mr. Pycroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the
     police."
                       THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Dear Mr. Holmes:
     I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I should or should not
     accept a situation which has been offered to me as governess. I shall
     call at half-past ten to-morrow if I do not inconvenience you.
     Yours faithfully,
     Violet Hunter.

     "Do you know the young lady?" I asked.

     "Not I."

     "It is half-past ten now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "'You are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked.

     "'Yes, sir.'

     "'As governess?'

     "'Yes, sir.'

     "'And what salary do you ask?'

     "'I had £4 a month in my last place with Colonel Spence Munro.'

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

     "'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,' said I. 'A
     little French, a little German, music, and drawing--'

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

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

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

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

     "'May I ask where you live, sir?' said I.

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

     "'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.'

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

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

     "'My sole duties, then,' I asked, 'are to take charge of a single
     child?'

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

     "'I should be happy to make myself useful.'

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

     "'No,' said I, considerably astonished at his words.

     "'Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?'

     "'Oh, no.'

     "'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?'

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

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

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

     "'No, sir, I really could not,' I answered firmly.

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

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

     "'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' she asked.

     "'If you please, Miss Stoper.'

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

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

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

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

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

     "But you would not advise me to refuse?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!"

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

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

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

     "Danger! What danger do you foresee?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     The summons was a brief and urgent one.

     Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday to-morrow
     [it said]. Do come! I am at my wit's end.
     Hunter.

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

     "I should wish to."

     "Just look it up, then."

     "There is a train at half-past nine," said I, glancing over my
     Bradshaw. "It is due at Winchester at 11.30."

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

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

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

     But Holmes shook his head gravely.

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

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

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

     "You horrify me!"

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

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

     "Quite so. She has her freedom."

     "What can be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?"

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

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

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

     "Pray tell us what has happened to you."

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

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

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

     "What can you not understand?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "'Jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon the road
     there who stares up at Miss Hunter.'

     "'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?' he asked.

     "'No, I know no one in these parts.'

     "'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to him
     to go away.'

     "'Surely it would be better to take no notice.'

     "'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn round
     and wave him away like that.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "'Oh, I am so frightened!' I panted.

     "'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!'--you cannot think how
     caressing and soothing his manner was--'and what has frightened you,
     my dear young lady?'

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

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

     "'Only that?' said he, looking at me keenly.

     "'Why, what did you think?' I asked.

     "'Why do you think that I lock this door?'

     "'I am sure that I do not know.'

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

     "'I am sure if I had known--'

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

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

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

     "Is Toller still drunk?" he asked.

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

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

     "Yes."

     "Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?"

     "Yes, the wine-cellar."

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

     "I will try. What is it?"

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

     "I will do it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Have you managed it?" asked Holmes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "But how?"

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

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

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

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

     "You villain!" said he, "where's your daughter?"

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

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

     "He's gone for the dog!" cried Miss Hunter.

     "I have my revolver," said I.

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

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

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

     "Mrs. Toller!" cried Miss Hunter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Yes, sir."

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

     "That was it, sir."

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

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

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

     "You have it, sir, just as it happened."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Here?"

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

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

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

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

     "No doubt you think me mad?" said he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "'Mr. Holder,' said he, 'I have been informed that you are in the
     habit of advancing money.'

     "'The firm does so when the security is good.' I answered.

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

     "'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?' I asked.

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

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

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

     "'One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,' said I.

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

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

     "'You doubt its value?' he asked.

     "'Not at all. I only doubt--'

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

     "'Ample.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "'Where have you put it?' asked Arthur.

     "'In my own bureau.'

     "'Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during the
     night.' said he.

     "'It is locked up,' I answered.

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

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

     "'Look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you let me
     have £200?'

     "'No, I cannot!' I answered sharply. 'I have been far too generous
     with you in money matters.'

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

     "'And a very good thing, too!' I cried.

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

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

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

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

     "'Certainly not.'

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

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

     "'Quite sure, dad.'

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

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

     "On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid."

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

     "'Arthur!' I screamed, 'you villain! you thief! How dare you touch
     that coronet?'

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

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

     "'Stolen!' he cried.

     "'Yes, thief!' I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.

     "'There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,' said he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Do you receive much company?" he asked.

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

     "Do you go out much in society?"

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

     "That is unusual in a young girl."

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

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

     "Terrible! She is even more affected than I."

     "You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?"

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

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

     "Yes, it was twisted."

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

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

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

     "They considered that it might be caused by Arthur's closing his
     bedroom door."

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

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

     "Have they thought of looking outside the house?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?"

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

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

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

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

     "This gentleman?" she asked, facing round to me.

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

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

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

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

     "You heard nothing yourself last night?"

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

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

     "Yes."

     "Were they all fastened this morning?"

     "Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Do you know him?"

     "Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round.
     His name is Francis Prosper."

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

     "Yes, he did."

     "And he is a man with a wooden leg?"

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

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

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

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

     "Which key was used to open it?" he asked.

     "That which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard of the
     lumber-room."

     "Have you it here?"

     "That is it on the dressing-table."

     Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I confess that I still share my uncle's perplexity."

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

     "He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt."

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

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

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

     "But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?"

     "I cannot tell."

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

     "My opinion is in no way altered."

     "Then, for God's sake, what was this dark business which was acted in
     my house last night?"

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

     "I would give my fortune to have them back."

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

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

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

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

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

     "Where to?"

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

     "How are you getting on?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Deserted you?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "You would not think £1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for them?"

     "I would pay ten."

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

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

     With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.

     "You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am saved!"

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

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

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

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

     "Then it was not Arthur who took them?"

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

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

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

     "For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary
     mystery!"

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

     "My Mary? Impossible!"

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

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

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

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

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

     "Is it possible?" gasped the banker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable
     by three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of being
     associated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods. I find
     them recorded in my notes under the headings of "The Adventure of the
     Second Stain," "The Adventure of the Naval Treaty," and "The
     Adventure of the Tired Captain." The first of these, however, deals
     with interest of such importance and implicates so many of the first
     families in the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to
     make it public. No case, however, in which Holmes was engaged has
     ever illustrated the value of his analytical methods so clearly or
     has impressed those who were associated with him so deeply. I still
     retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in which he
     demonstrated the true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubugue of the
     Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well-known specialist of
     Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies upon what proved to
     be side-issues. The new century will have come, however, before the
     story can be safely told. Meanwhile I pass on to the second on my
     list, which promised also at one time to be of national importance,
     and was marked by several incidents which give it a quite unique
     character.

     During my school-days I had been intimately associated with a lad
     named Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though he
     was two classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy, and carried
     away every prize which the school had to offer, finishing his
     exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on to continue his
     triumphant career at Cambridge. He was, I remember, extremely well
     connected, and even when we were all little boys together we knew
     that his mother's brother was Lord Holdhurst, the great conservative
     politician. This gaudy relationship did him little good at school. On
     the contrary, it seemed rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him
     about the playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket. But it
     was another thing when he came out into the world. I heard vaguely
     that his abilities and the influences which he commanded had won him
     a good position at the Foreign Office, and then he passed completely
     out of my mind until the following letter recalled his existence:

     Briarbrae, Woking.
     My dear Watson:
     I have no doubt that you can remember "Tadpole" Phelps, who was in
     the fifth form when you were in the third. It is possible even that
     you may have heard that through my uncle's influence I obtained a
     good appointment at the Foreign Office, and that I was in a situation
     of trust and honor until a horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast
     my career.
     There is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event. In the
     event of your acceding to my request it is probable that I shall have
     to narrate them to you. I have only just recovered from nine weeks of
     brain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. Do you think that you
     could bring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to
     have his opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me that
     nothing more can be done. Do try to bring him down, and as soon as
     possible. Every minute seems an hour while I live in this state of
     horrible suspense. Assure him that if I have not asked his advice
     sooner it was not because I did not appreciate his talents, but
     because I have been off my head ever since the blow fell. Now I am
     clear again, though I dare not think of it too much for fear of a
     relapse. I am still so weak that I have to write, as you see, by
     dictating. Do try to bring him.
     Your old school-fellow,
     Percy Phelps.

     There was something that touched me as I read this letter, something
     pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So moved was I
     that even had it been a difficult matter I should have tried it, but
     of course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, so that he was ever
     as ready to bring his aid as his client could be to receive it. My
     wife agreed with me that not a moment should be lost in laying the
     matter before him, and so within an hour of breakfast-time I found
     myself back once more in the old rooms in Baker Street.

     Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown, and
     working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved retort was
     boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner, and the
     distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre measure. My friend
     hardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeing that his investigation
     must be of importance, seated myself in an arm-chair and waited. He
     dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a few drops of each with
     his glass pipette, and finally brought a test-tube containing a
     solution over to the table. In his right hand he held a slip of
     litmus-paper.

     "You come at a crisis, Watson," said he. "If this paper remains blue,
     all is well. If it turns red, it means a man's life." He dipped it
     into the test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson.
     "Hum! I thought as much!" he cried. "I will be at your service in an
     instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper." He
     turned to his desk and scribbled off several telegrams, which were
     handed over to the page-boy. Then he threw himself down into the
     chair opposite, and drew up his knees until his fingers clasped round
     his long, thin shins.

     "A very commonplace little murder," said he. "You've got something
     better, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is
     it?"

     I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated
     attention.

     "It does not tell us very much, does it?" he remarked, as he handed
     it back to me.

     "Hardly anything."

     "And yet the writing is of interest."

     "But the writing is not his own."

     "Precisely. It is a woman's."

     "A man's surely," I cried.

     "No, a woman's, and a woman of rare character. You see, at the
     commencement of an investigation it is something to know that your
     client is in close contact with some one who, for good or evil, has
     an exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case.
     If you are ready we will start at once for Woking, and see this
     diplomatist who is in such evil case, and the lady to whom he
     dictates his letters."

     We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in
     a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods and the
     heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large detached house
     standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes' walk of the
     station. On sending in our cards we were shown into an elegantly
     appointed drawing-room, where we were joined in a few minutes by a
     rather stout man who received us with much hospitality. His age may
     have been nearer forty than thirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and
     his eyes so merry that he still conveyed the impression of a plump
     and mischievous boy.

     "I am so glad that you have come," said he, shaking our hands with
     effusion. "Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah, poor old
     chap, he clings to any straw! His father and his mother asked me to
     see you, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to
     them."

     "We have had no details yet," observed Holmes. "I perceive that you
     are not yourself a member of the family."

     Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he began
     to laugh.

     "Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket," said he. "For a
     moment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrison is my
     name, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall at least be a
     relation by marriage. You will find my sister in his room, for she
     has nursed him hand-and-foot this two months back. Perhaps we'd
     better go in at once, for I know how impatient he is."

     The chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the
     drawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a
     bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. A
     young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the open
     window, through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmy
     summer air. A woman was sitting beside him, who rose as we entered.

     "Shall I leave, Percy?" she asked.

     He clutched her hand to detain her. "How are you, Watson?" said he,
     cordially. "I should never have known you under that moustache, and I
     dare say you would not be prepared to swear to me. This I presume is
     your celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

     I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. The stout
     young man had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in
     that of the invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a little short
     and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large,
     dark, Italian eyes, and a wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints
     made the white face of her companion the more worn and haggard by the
     contrast.

     "I won't waste your time," said he, raising himself upon the sofa.
     "I'll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I was a happy
     and successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when
     a sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life.

     "I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, and
     through the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to
     a responsible position. When my uncle became foreign minister in this
     administration he gave me several missions of trust, and as I always
     brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have the
     utmost confidence in my ability and tact.

     "Nearly ten weeks ago--to be more accurate, on the twenty-third of
     May--he called me into his private room, and, after complimenting me
     on the good work which I had done, he informed me that he had a new
     commission of trust for me to execute.

     "'This,' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau, 'is
     the original of that secret treaty between England and Italy of
     which, I regret to say, some rumors have already got into the public
     press. It is of enormous importance that nothing further should leak
     out. The French or the Russian embassy would pay an immense sum to
     learn the contents of these papers. They should not leave my bureau
     were it not that it is absolutely necessary to have them copied. You
     have a desk in your office?'

     "'Yes, sir.'

     "'Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions
     that you may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy
     it at your leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have
     finished, relock both the original and the draft in the desk, and
     hand them over to me personally to-morrow morning.'

     "I took the papers and--"

     "Excuse me an instant," said Holmes. "Were you alone during this
     conversation?"

     "Absolutely."

     "In a large room?"

     "Thirty feet each way."

     "In the centre?"

     "Yes, about it."

     "And speaking low?"

     "My uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at all."

     "Thank you," said Holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go on."

     "I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the other clerks
     had departed. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, had some arrears
     of work to make up, so I left him there and went out to dine. When I
     returned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work, for I knew that
     Joseph--the Mr. Harrison whom you saw just now--was in town, and that
     he would travel down to Woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and I
     wanted if possible to catch it.

     "When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was of such
     importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what
     he had said. Without going into details, I may say that it defined
     the position of Great Britain towards the Triple Alliance, and
     fore-shadowed the policy which this country would pursue in the event
     of the French fleet gaining a complete ascendancy over that of Italy
     in the Mediterranean. The questions treated in it were purely naval.
     At the end were the signatures of the high dignitaries who had signed
     it. I glanced my eyes over it, and then settled down to my task of
     copying.

     "It was a long document, written in the French language, and
     containing twenty-six separate articles. I copied as quickly as I
     could, but at nine o'clock I had only done nine articles, and it
     seemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train. I was feeling
     drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from the effects of
     a long day's work. A cup of coffee would clear my brain. A
     commissionaire remains all night in a little lodge at the foot of the
     stairs, and is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit-lamp for
     any of the officials who may be working over time. I rang the bell,
     therefore, to summon him.

     "To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a large,
     coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained that she was
     the commissionaire's wife, who did the charing, and I gave her the
     order for the coffee.

     "I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, I
     rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. My coffee
     had not yet come, and I wondered what was the cause of the delay
     could be. Opening the door, I started down the corridor to find out.
     There was a straight passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room
     in which I had been working, and was the only exit from it. It ended
     in a curving staircase, with the commissionaire's lodge in the
     passage at the bottom. Half way down this staircase is a small
     landing, with another passage running into it at right angles. This
     second one leads by means of a second small stair to a side door,
     used by servants, and also as a short cut by clerks when coming from
     Charles Street. Here is a rough chart of the place."

     "Thank you. I think that I quite follow you," said Sherlock Holmes.

     "It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point. I
     went down the stairs and into the hall, where I found the
     commissionaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle boiling
     furiously upon the spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and blew out
     the lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then I put out
     my hand and was about to shake the man, who was still sleeping
     soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and he woke with a
     start.

     "'Mr. Phelps, sir!' said he, looking at me in bewilderment.

     "'I came down to see if my coffee was ready.'

     "'I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.' He looked at me
     and then up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing
     astonishment upon his face.

     "'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he asked.

     "'The bell!' I cried. 'What bell is it?'

     "'It's the bell of the room you were working in.'

     "A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some one, then, was in
     that room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran
     frantically up the stair and along the passage. There was no one in
     the corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room. All was
     exactly as I left it, save only that the papers which had been
     committed to my care had been taken from the desk on which they lay.
     The copy was there, and the original was gone."

     Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see that the
     problem was entirely to his heart. "Pray, what did you do then?" he
     murmured.

     "I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the
     stairs from the side door. Of course I must have met him if he had
     come the other way."

     "You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the room
     all the time, or in the corridor which you have just described as
     dimly lighted?"

     "It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself either
     in the room or the corridor. There is no cover at all."

     "Thank you. Pray proceed."

     "The commissionaire, seeing by my pale face that something was to be
     feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along the
     corridor and down the steep steps which led to Charles Street. The
     door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open and
     rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we did so there came
     three chimes from a neighboring clock. It was quarter to ten."

     "That is of enormous importance," said Holmes, making a note upon his
     shirt-cuff.

     "The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling. There
     was no one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was going on, as
     usual, in Whitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along the pavement,
     bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman
     standing.

     "'A robbery has been committed,' I gasped. 'A document of immense
     value has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has any one passed
     this way?'

     "'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,' said he;
     'only one person has passed during that time--a woman, tall and
     elderly, with a Paisley shawl.'

     "'Ah, that is only my wife,' cried the commissionaire; 'has no one
     else passed?'

     "'No one.'

     "'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,' cried the
     fellow, tugging at my sleeve.

     "But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw me
     away increased my suspicions.

     "'Which way did the woman go?' I cried.

     "'I don't know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special reason
     for watching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.'

     "'How long ago was it?'

     "'Oh, not very many minutes.'

     "'Within the last five?'

     "'Well, it could not be more than five.'

     "'You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is of
     importance,' cried the commissionaire; 'take my word for it that my
     old woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the other end
     of the street. Well, if you won't, I will.' And with that he rushed
     off in the other direction.

     "But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve.

     "'Where do you live?' said I.

     "'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,' he answered. 'But don't let yourself be
     drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end of
     the street and let us see if we can hear of anything.'

     "Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the policeman
     we both hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic,
     many people coming and going, but all only too eager to get to a
     place of safety upon so wet a night. There was no lounger who could
     tell us who had passed.

     "Then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and the
     passage without result. The corridor which led to the room was laid
     down with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very
     easily. We examined it very carefully, but found no outline of any
     footmark."

     "Had it been raining all evening?"

     "Since about seven."

     "How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about nine
     left no traces with her muddy boots?"

     "I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time. The
     charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the
     commissionaire's office, and putting on list slippers."

     "That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the night was
     a wet one? The chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary
     interest. What did you do next?"

     "We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret door,
     and the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Both of them
     were fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a
     trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. I
     will pledge my life that whoever stole my papers could only have come
     through the door."

     "How about the fireplace?"

     "They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the wire
     just to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come right up
     to the desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the
     bell? It is a most insoluble mystery."

     "Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps? You
     examined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left any
     traces--any cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?"

     "There was nothing of the sort."

     "No smell?"

     "Well, we never thought of that."

     "Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us in
     such an investigation."

     "I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it if there
     had been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue of any
     kind. The only tangible fact was that the commissionaire's wife--Mrs.
     Tangey was the name--had hurried out of the place. He could give no
     explanation save that it was about the time when the woman always
     went home. The policeman and I agreed that our best plan would be to
     seize the woman before she could get rid of the papers, presuming
     that she had them.

     "The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes,
     the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great
     deal of energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the
     address which had been given to us. A young woman opened the door,
     who proved to be Mrs. Tangey's eldest daughter. Her mother had not
     come back yet, and we were shown into the front room to wait.

     "About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we made
     the one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of opening
     the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say,
     'Mother, there are two men in the house waiting to see you,' and an
     instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet rushing down the
     passage. Forbes flung open the door, and we both ran into the back
     room or kitchen, but the woman had got there before us. She stared at
     us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly recognizing me, an
     expression of absolute astonishment came over her face.

     "'Why, if it isn't Mr. Phelps, of the office!' she cried.

     "'Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away from us?'
     asked my companion.

     "'I thought you were the brokers,' said she, 'we have had some
     trouble with a tradesman.'

     "'That's not quite good enough,' answered Forbes. 'We have reason to
     believe that you have taken a paper of importance from the Foreign
     Office, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You must come back
     with us to Scotland Yard to be searched.'

     "It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheeler was
     brought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made an
     examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to
     see whether she might have made away with the papers during the
     instant that she was alone. There were no signs, however, of any
     ashes or scraps. When we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at
     once to the female searcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until
     she came back with her report. There were no signs of the papers.

     "Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its full
     force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed thought. I
     had been so confident of regaining the treaty at once that I had not
     dared to think of what would be the consequence if I failed to do so.
     But now there was nothing more to be done, and I had leisure to
     realize my position. It was horrible. Watson there would tell you
     that I was a nervous, sensitive boy at school. It is my nature. I
     thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in the Cabinet, of the
     shame which I had brought upon him, upon myself, upon every one
     connected with me. What though I was the victim of an extraordinary
     accident? No allowance is made for accidents where diplomatic
     interests are at stake. I was ruined, shamefully, hopelessly ruined.
     I don't know what I did. I fancy I must have made a scene. I have a
     dim recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me,
     endeavoring to soothe me. One of them drove down with me to Waterloo,
     and saw me into the Woking train. I believe that he would have come
     all the way had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, was
     going down by that very train. The doctor most kindly took charge of
     me, and it was well he did so, for I had a fit in the station, and
     before we reached home I was practically a raving maniac.

     "You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused from
     their beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in this condition.
     Poor Annie here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr. Ferrier had
     just heard enough from the detective at the station to be able to
     give an idea of what had happened, and his story did not mend
     matters. It was evident to all that I was in for a long illness, so
     Joseph was bundled out of this cheery bedroom, and it was turned into
     a sick-room for me. Here I have lain, Mr. Holmes, for over nine
     weeks, unconscious, and raving with brain-fever. If it had not been
     for Miss Harrison here and for the doctor's care I should not be
     speaking to you now. She has nursed me by day and a hired nurse has
     looked after me by night, for in my mad fits I was capable of
     anything. Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only during the
     last three days that my memory has quite returned. Sometimes I wish
     that it never had. The first thing that I did was to wire to Mr.
     Forbes, who had the case in hand. He came out, and assures me that,
     though everything has been done, no trace of a clue has been
     discovered. The commissionaire and his wife have been examined in
     every way without any light being thrown upon the matter. The
     suspicions of the police then rested upon young Gorot, who, as you
     may remember, stayed over time in the office that night. His
     remaining behind and his French name were really the only two points
     which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact, I did not
     begin work until he had gone, and his people are of Huguenot
     extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition as you and I
     are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and there the
     matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutely my last
     hope. If you fail me, then my honor as well as my position are
     forever forfeited."

     The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long
     recital, while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating
     medicine. Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes
     closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but
     which I knew betokened the most intense self-absorption.

     "You statement has been so explicit," said he at last, "that you have
     really left me very few questions to ask. There is one of the very
     utmost importance, however. Did you tell any one that you had this
     special task to perform?"

     "No one."

     "Not Miss Harrison here, for example?"

     "No. I had not been back to Woking between getting the order and
     executing the commission."

     "And none of your people had by chance been to see you?"

     "None."

     "Did any of them know their way about in the office?"

     "Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it."

     "Still, of course, if you said nothing to any one about the treaty
     these inquiries are irrelevant."

     "I said nothing."

     "Do you know anything of the commissionaire?"

     "Nothing except that he is an old soldier."

     "What regiment?"

     "Oh, I have heard--Coldstream Guards."

     "Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. The
     authorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not
     always use them to advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!"

     He walked past the couch to the open window, and held up the drooping
     stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and
     green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never
     before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects.

     "There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion,"
     said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built
     up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the
     goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other
     things, our powers our desires, our food, are all really necessary
     for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra.
     Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition
     of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again
     that we have much to hope from the flowers."

     Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this demonstration
     with surprise and a good deal of disappointment written upon their
     faces. He had fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his
     fingers. It had lasted some minutes before the young lady broke in
     upon it.

     "Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?" she
     asked, with a touch of asperity in her voice.

     "Oh, the mystery!" he answered, coming back with a start to the
     realities of life. "Well, it would be absurd to deny that the case is
     a very abstruse and complicated one, but I can promise you that I
     will look into the matter and let you know any points which may
     strike me."

     "Do you see any clue?"

     "You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I must test them
     before I can pronounce upon their value."

     "You suspect some one?"

     "I suspect myself."

     "What!"

     "Of coming to conclusions too rapidly."

     "Then go to London and test your conclusions."

     "Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison," said Holmes, rising.
     "I think, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allow yourself to
     indulge in false hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is a very tangled
     one."

     "I shall be in a fever until I see you again," cried the diplomatist.

     "Well, I'll come out by the same train to-morrow, though it's more
     than likely that my report will be a negative one."

     "God bless you for promising to come," cried our client. "It gives me
     fresh life to know that something is being done. By the way, I have
     had a letter from Lord Holdhurst."

     "Ha! What did he say?"

     "He was cold, but not harsh. I dare say my severe illness prevented
     him from being that. He repeated that the matter was of the utmost
     importance, and added that no steps would be taken about my
     future--by which he means, of course, my dismissal--until my health
     was restored and I had an opportunity of repairing my misfortune."

     "Well, that was reasonable and considerate," said Holmes. "Come,
     Watson, for we have a good day's work before us in town."

     Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were soon
     whirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in profound
     thought, and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed Clapham
     Junction.

     "It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these lines
     which run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses like
     this."

     I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he soon
     explained himself.

     "Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above the
     slates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea."

     "The board-schools."

     "Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds
     of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise,
     better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does not
     drink?"

     "I should not think so."

     "Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility into
     account. The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep
     water, and it's a question whether we shall ever be able to get him
     ashore. What did you think of Miss Harrison?"

     "A girl of strong character."

     "Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her brother
     are the only children of an iron-master somewhere up Northumberland
     way. He got engaged to her when traveling last winter, and she came
     down to be introduced to his people, with her brother as escort. Then
     came the smash, and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother
     Joseph, finding himself pretty snug, stayed on too. I've been making
     a few independent inquiries, you see. But to-day must be a day of
     inquiries."

     "My practice--" I began.

     "Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine--" said
     Holmes, with some asperity.

     "I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a
     day or two, since it is the slackest time in the year."

     "Excellent," said he, recovering his good-humor. "Then we'll look
     into this matter together. I think that we should begin by seeing
     Forbes. He can probably tell us all the details we want until we know
     from what side the case is to be approached."

     "You said you had a clue?"

     "Well, we have several, but we can only test their value by further
     inquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one which is
     purposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who profits by
     it? There is the French ambassador, there is the Russian, there is
     who-ever might sell it to either of these, and there is Lord
     Holdhurst."

     "Lord Holdhurst!"

     "Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in
     a position where he was not sorry to have such a document
     accidentally destroyed."

     "Not a statesman with the honorable record of Lord Holdhurst?"

     "It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. We shall
     see the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us anything.
     Meanwhile I have already set inquiries on foot."

     "Already?"

     "Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every evening paper in
     London. This advertisement will appear in each of them."

     He handed over a sheet torn from a note-book. On it was scribbled in
     pencil:

     "£10 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or about
     the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten in
     the evening of May 23d. Apply 221b, Baker Street."

     "You are confident that the thief came in a cab?"

     "If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr. Phelps is correct in
     stating that there is no hiding-place either in the room or the
     corridors, then the person must have come from outside. If he came
     from outside on so wet a night, and yet left no trace of damp upon
     the linoleum, which was examined within a few minutes of his passing,
     then it is exceeding probably that he came in a cab. Yes, I think
     that we may safely deduce a cab."

     "It sounds plausible."

     "That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to
     something. And then, of course, there is the bell--which is the most
     distinctive feature of the case. Why should the bell ring? Was it the
     thief who did it out of bravado? Or was it some one who was with the
     thief who did it in order to prevent the crime? Or was it an
     accident? Or was it--?" He sank back into the state of intense and
     silent thought from which he had emerged; but it seemed to me,
     accustomed as I was to his every mood, that some new possibility had
     dawned suddenly upon him.

     It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after a
     hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland Yard.
     Holmes had already wired to Forbes, and we found him waiting to
     receive us--a small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable
     expression. He was decidedly frigid in his manner to us, especially
     when he heard the errand upon which we had come.

     "I've heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes," said he, tartly.
     "You are ready enough to use all the information that the police can
     lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself
     and bring discredit on them."

     "On the contrary," said Holmes, "out of my last fifty-three cases my
     name has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the
     credit in forty-nine. I don't blame you for not knowing this, for you
     are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new
     duties you will work with me and not against me."

     "I'd be very glad of a hint or two," said the detective, changing his
     manner. "I've certainly had no credit from the case so far."

     "What steps have you taken?"

     "Tangey, the commissionaire, has been shadowed. He left the Guards
     with a good character and we can find nothing against him. His wife
     is a bad lot, though. I fancy she knows more about this than
     appears."

     "Have you shadowed her?"

     "We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and our
     woman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get
     nothing out of her."

     "I understand that they have had brokers in the house?"

     "Yes, but they were paid off."

     "Where did the money come from?"

     "That was all right. His pension was due. They have not shown any
     sign of being in funds."

     "What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when Mr.
     Phelps rang for the coffee?"

     "She said that he husband was very tired and she wished to relieve
     him."

     "Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little later
     asleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then but the
     woman's character. Did you ask her why she hurried away that night?
     Her haste attracted the attention of the police constable."

     "She was later than usual and wanted to get home."

     "Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at
     least twenty minutes after he, got home before her?"

     "She explains that by the difference between a 'bus and a hansom."

     "Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran into the
     back kitchen?"

     "Because she had the money there with which to pay off the brokers."

     "She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask her whether
     in leaving she met any one or saw any one loitering about Charles
     Street?"

     "She saw no one but the constable."

     "Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly. What
     else have you done?"

     "The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but without
     result. We can show nothing against him."

     "Anything else?"

     "Well, we have nothing else to go upon--no evidence of any kind."

     "Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?"

     "Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand, whoever
     it was, to go and give the alarm like that."

     "Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you
     have told me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear
     from me. Come along, Watson."

     "Where are we going to now?" I asked, as we left the office.

     "We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet minister
     and future premier of England."

     We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in his
     chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we were
     instantly shown up. The statesman received us with that old-fashioned
     courtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two
     luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace. Standing on the
     rug between us, with his slight, tall figure, his sharp features,
     thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely tinged with gray, he
     seemed to represent that not too common type, a nobleman who is in
     truth noble.

     "Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes," said he, smiling.
     "And, of course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of
     your visit. There has only been one occurrence in these offices which
     could call for your attention. In whose interest are you acting, may
     I ask?"

     "In that of Mr. Percy Phelps," answered Holmes.

     "Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can understand that our kinship makes
     it the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. I fear that
     the incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career."

     "But if the document is found?"

     "Ah, that, of course, would be different."

     "I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, Lord
     Holdhurst."

     "I shall be happy to give you any information in my power."

     "Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the
     copying of the document?"

     "It was."

     "Then you could hardly have been overheard?"

     "It is out of the question."

     "Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to give
     any one the treaty to be copied?"

     "Never."

     "You are certain of that?"

     "Absolutely."

     "Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, and
     nobody else knew anything of the matter, then the thief's presence in
     the room was purely accidental. He saw his chance and he took it."

     The statesman smiled. "You take me out of my province there," said
     he.

     Holmes considered for a moment. "There is another very important
     point which I wish to discuss with you," said he. "You feared, as I
     understand, that very grave results might follow from the details of
     this treaty becoming known."

     A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. "Very
     grave results indeed."

     "And have they occurred?"

     "Not yet."

     "If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian Foreign
     Office, you would expect to hear of it?"

     "I should," said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face.

     "Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has been
     heard, it is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the treaty
     has not reached them."

     Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.

     "We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the treaty in
     order to frame it and hang it up."

     "Perhaps he is waiting for a better price."

     "If he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. The treaty
     will cease to be secret in a few months."

     "That is most important," said Holmes. "Of course, it is a possible
     supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness--"

     "An attack of brain-fever, for example?" asked the statesman,
     flashing a swift glance at him.

     "I did not say so," said Holmes, imperturbably. "And now, Lord
     Holdhurst, we have already taken up too much of your valuable time,
     and we shall wish you good-day."

     "Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it may,"
     answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door.

     "He's a fine fellow," said Holmes, as we came out into Whitehall.
     "But he has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from rich
     and has many calls. You noticed, of course, that his boots had been
     re-soled? Now, Watson, I won't detain you from your legitimate work
     any longer. I shall do nothing more to-day, unless I have an answer
     to my cab advertisement. But I should be extremely obliged to you if
     you would come down with me to Woking to-morrow, by the same train
     which we took yesterday."

     I met him accordingly next morning and we traveled down to Woking
     together. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he said, and no
     fresh light had been thrown upon the case. He had, when he so willed
     it, the utter immobility of countenance of a red Indian, and I could
     not gather from his appearance whether he was satisfied or not with
     the position of the case. His conversation, I remember, was about the
     Bertillon system of measurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic
     admiration of the French savant.

     We found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse, but
     looking considerably better than before. He rose from the sofa and
     greeted us without difficulty when we entered.

     "Any news?" he asked, eagerly.

     "My report, as I expected, is a negative one," said Holmes. "I have
     seen Forbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one or two
     trains of inquiry upon foot which may lead to something."

     "You have not lost heart, then?"

     "By no means."

     "God bless you for saying that!" cried Miss Harrison. "If we keep our
     courage and our patience the truth must come out."

     "We have more to tell you than you have for us," said Phelps,
     reseating himself upon the couch.

     "I hoped you might have something."

     "Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which might
     have proved to be a serious one." His expression grew very grave as
     he spoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes.
     "Do you know," said he, "that I begin to believe that I am the
     unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is
     aimed at as well as my honor?"

     "Ah!" cried Holmes.

     "It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy in
     the world. Yet from last night's experience I can come to no other
     conclusion."

     "Pray let me hear it."

     "You must know that last night was the very first night that I have
     ever slept without a nurse in the room. I was so much better that I
     thought I could dispense with one. I had a night-light burning,
     however. Well, about two in the morning I had sunk into a light sleep
     when I was suddenly aroused by a slight noise. It was like the sound
     which a mouse makes when it is gnawing a plank, and I lay listening
     to it for some time under the impression that it must come from that
     cause. Then it grew louder, and suddenly there came from the window a
     sharp metallic snick. I sat up in amazement. There could be no doubt
     what the sounds were now. The first ones had been caused by some one
     forcing an instrument through the slit between the sashes, and the
     second by the catch being pressed back.

     "There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person were
     waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I heard a
     gentle creaking as the window was very slowly opened. I could stand
     it no longer, for my nerves are not what they used to be. I sprang
     out of bed and flung open the shutters. A man was crouching at the
     window. I could see little of him, for he was gone like a flash. He
     was wrapped in some sort of cloak which came across the lower part of
     his face. One thing only I am sure of, and that is that he had some
     weapon in his hand. It looked to me like a long knife. I distinctly
     saw the gleam of it as he turned to run."

     "This is most interesting," said Holmes. "Pray what did you do then?"

     "I should have followed him through the open window if I had been
     stronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It took me
     some little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants
     all sleep upstairs. I shouted, however, and that brought Joseph down,
     and he roused the others. Joseph and the groom found marks on the bed
     outside the window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they
     found it hopeless to follow the trail across the grass. There's a
     place, however, on the wooden fence which skirts the road which shows
     signs, they tell me, as if some one had got over, and had snapped the
     top of the rail in doing so. I have said nothing to the local police
     yet, for I thought I had best have your opinion first."

     This tale of our client's appeared to have an extraordinary effect
     upon Sherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced about the room
     in uncontrollable excitement.

     "Misfortunes never come single," said Phelps, smiling, though it was
     evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.

     "You have certainly had your share," said Holmes. "Do you think you
     could walk round the house with me?"

     "Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come, too."

     "And I also," said Miss Harrison.

     "I am afraid not," said Holmes, shaking his head. "I think I must ask
     you to remain sitting exactly where you are."

     The young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. Her
     brother, however, had joined us and we set off all four together. We
     passed round the lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist's
     window. There were, as he had said, marks upon the bed, but they were
     hopelessly blurred and vague. Holmes stopped over them for an
     instant, and then rose shrugging his shoulders.

     "I don't think any one could make much of this," said he. "Let us go
     round the house and see why this particular room was chose by the
     burglar. I should have thought those larger windows of the
     drawing-room and dining-room would have had more attractions for
     him."

     "They are more visible from the road," suggested Mr. Joseph Harrison.

     "Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he might have
     attempted. What is it for?"

     "It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of course it is locked at
     night."

     "Have you ever had an alarm like this before?"

     "Never," said our client.

     "Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract burglars?"

     "Nothing of value."

     Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and a
     negligent air which was unusual with him.

     "By the way," said he to Joseph Harrison, "you found some place, I
     understand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a look at
     that!"

     The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of the
     wooden rails had been cracked. A small fragment of the wood was
     hanging down. Holmes pulled it off and examined it critically.

     "Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does it
     not?"

     "Well, possibly so."

     "There are no marks of any one jumping down upon the other side. No,
     I fancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the bedroom and
     talk the matter over."

     Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his
     future brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and we
     were at the open window of the bedroom long before the others came
     up.

     "Miss Harrison," said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of
     manner, "you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent you
     from staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance."

     "Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes," said the girl in
     astonishment.

     "When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and
     keep the key. Promise to do this."

     "But Percy?"

     "He will come to London with us."

     "And am I to remain here?"

     "It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!"

     She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up.

     "Why do you sit moping there, Annie?" cried her brother. "Come out
     into the sunshine!"

     "No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room is
     deliciously cool and soothing."

     "What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?" asked our client.

     "Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of
     our main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you would
     come up to London with us."

     "At once?"

     "Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour."

     "I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help."

     "The greatest possible."

     "Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?"

     "I was just going to propose it."

     "Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find
     the bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must
     tell us exactly what you would like done. Perhaps you would prefer
     that Joseph came with us so as to look after me?"

     "Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he'll look
     after you. We'll have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then
     we shall all three set off for town together."

     It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused herself
     from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes's suggestion.
     What the object of my friend's manoeuvres was I could not conceive,
     unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps, who, rejoiced by
     his returning health and by the prospect of action, lunched with us
     in the dining-room. Holmes had still more startling surprise for us,
     however, for, after accompanying us down to the station and seeing us
     into our carriage, he calmly announced that he had no intention of
     leaving Woking.

     "There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear up
     before I go," said he. "Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some ways
     rather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would oblige me
     by driving at once to Baker Street with our friend here, and
     remaining with him until I see you again. It is fortunate that you
     are old school-fellows, as you must have much to talk over. Mr.
     Phelps can have the spare bedroom to-night, and I will be with you in
     time for breakfast, for there is a train which will take me into
     Waterloo at eight."

     "But how about our investigation in London?" asked Phelps, ruefully.

     "We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be of
     more immediate use here."

     "You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back to-morrow
     night," cried Phelps, as we began to move from the platform.

     "I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae," answered Holmes, and waved
     his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station.

     Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us could
     devise a satisfactory reason for this new development.

     "I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last
     night, if a burglar it was. For myself, I don't believe it was an
     ordinary thief."

     "What is your own idea, then?"

     "Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but I
     believe there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and
     that for some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at
     by the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider
     the facts! Why should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window,
     where there could be no hope of any plunder, and why should he come
     with a long knife in his hand?"

     "You are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?"

     "Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite
     distinctly."

     "But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?"

     "Ah, that is the question."

     "Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his
     action, would it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he
     can lay his hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will
     have gone a long way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It is
     absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you,
     while the other threatens your life."

     "But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae."

     "I have known him for some time," said I, "but I never knew him do
     anything yet without a very good reason," and with that our
     conversation drifted off on to other topics.

     But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his long
     illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. In vain I
     endeavored to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social
     questions, in anything which might take his mind out of the groove.
     He would always come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing,
     speculating, as to what Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst
     was taking, what news we should have in the morning. As the evening
     wore on his excitement became quite painful.

     "You have implicit faith in Holmes?" he asked.

     "I have seen him do some remarkable things."

     "But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?"

     "Oh, yes, I have known him solve questions which presented fewer
     clues than yours."

     "But not where such large interests are at stake?"

     "I don't know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf of
     three of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital matters."

     "But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow that
     I never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is hopeful?
     Do you think he expects to make a success of it?"

     "He has said nothing."

     "That is a bad sign."

     "On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off the trail he
     generally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite
     absolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is most
     taciturn. Now, my dear fellow, we can't help matters by making
     ourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bed and
     so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow."

     I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though
     I knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep
     for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the
     night myself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a
     hundred theories, each of which was more impossible than the last.
     Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to
     remain in the sick-room all day? Why had he been so careful not to
     inform the people at Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them?
     I cudgelled my brains until I fell asleep in the endeavor to find
     some explanation which would cover all these facts.

     It was seven o'clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelps's
     room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His
     first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet.

     "He'll be here when he promised," said I, "and not an instant sooner
     or later."

     And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to
     the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window we saw
     that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was
     very grim and pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time
     before he came upstairs.

     "He looks like a beaten man," cried Phelps.

     I was forced to confess that he was right. "After all," said I, "the
     clue of the matter lies probably here in town."

     Phelps gave a groan.

     "I don't know how it is," said he, "but I had hoped for so much from
     his return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday.
     What can be the matter?"

     "You are not wounded, Holmes?" I asked, as my friend entered the
     room.

     "Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness," he answered,
     nodding his good-mornings to us. "This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is
     certainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated."

     "I feared that you would find it beyond you."

     "It has been a most remarkable experience."

     "That bandage tells of adventures," said I. "Won't you tell us what
     has happened?"

     "After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed
     thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has
     been no answer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannot
     expect to score every time."

     The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs. Hudson
     entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she brought in
     three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I
     curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression.

     "Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes, uncovering a
     dish of curried chicken. "Her cuisine is a little limited, but she
     has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have you
     here, Watson?"

     "Ham and eggs," I answered.

     "Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps--curried fowl or eggs,
     or will you help yourself?"

     "Thank you. I can eat nothing," said Phelps.

     "Oh, come! Try the dish before you."

     "Thank you, I would really rather not."

     "Well, then," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, "I suppose
     that you have no objection to helping me?"

     Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and
     sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he
     looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of
     blue-gray paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then
     danced madly about the room, passing it to his bosom and shrieking
     out in his delight. Then he fell back into an arm-chair so limp and
     exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pour brandy down his
     throat to keep him from fainting.

     "There! there!" said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon the shoulder.
     "It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will
     tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic."

     Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "God bless you!" he cried. "You
     have saved my honor."

     "Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes. "I assure you it
     is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to
     blunder over a commission."

     Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket of
     his coat.

     "I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and
     yet I am dying to know how you got it and where it was."

     Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned his attention
     to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and settled himself
     down into his chair.

     "I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it afterwards,"
     said he. "After leaving you at the station I went for a charming walk
     through some admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village
     called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn, and took the precaution
     of filling my flask and of putting a paper of sandwiches in my
     pocket. There I remained until evening, when I set off for Woking
     again, and found myself in the high-road outside Briarbrae just after
     sunset.

     "Well, I waited until the road was clear--it is never a very
     frequented one at any time, I fancy--and then I clambered over the
     fence into the grounds."

     "Surely the gate was open!" ejaculated Phelps.

     "Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose the place
     where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen I got over
     without the least chance of any one in the house being able to see
     me. I crouched down among the bushes on the other side, and crawled
     from one to the other--witness the disreputable state of my trouser
     knees--until I had reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite
     to your bedroom window. There I squatted down and awaited
     developments.

     "The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss Harrison
     sitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past ten when she
     closed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired.

     "I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she had turned
     the key in the lock."

     "The key!" ejaculated Phelps.

     "Yes, I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on the
     outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. She carried
     out every one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without
     her cooperation you would not have that paper in you coat-pocket. She
     departed then and the lights went out, and I was left squatting in
     the rhododendron-bush.

     "The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of course
     it has the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feels when
     he lies beside the water-course and waits for the big game. It was
     very long, though--almost as long, Watson, as when you and I waited
     in that deadly room when we looked into the little problem of the
     Speckled Band. There was a church-clock down at Woking which struck
     the quarters, and I thought more than once that it had stopped. At
     last however about two in the morning, I suddenly heard the gentle
     sound of a bolt being pushed back and the creaking of a key. A moment
     later the servant's door was opened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped
     out into the moonlight."

     "Joseph!" ejaculated Phelps.

     "He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over his shoulder
     so that he could conceal his face in an instant if there were any
     alarm. He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he
     reached the window he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash and
     pushed back the catch. Then he flung open the window, and putting his
     knife through the crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and
     swung them open.

     "From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the room and
     of every one of his movements. He lit the two candles which stood
     upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back the corner
     of the carpet in the neighborhood of the door. Presently he stopped
     and picked out a square piece of board, such as is usually left to
     enable plumbers to get at the joints of the gas-pipes. This one
     covered, as a matter of fact, the T joint which gives off the pipe
     which supplies the kitchen underneath. Out of this hiding-place he
     drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed down the board, rearranged
     the carpet, blew out the candles, and walked straight into my arms as
     I stood waiting for him outside the window.

     "Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for, has
     Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to grasp him
     twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand
     of him. He looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when
     we had finished, but he listened to reason and gave up the papers.
     Having got them I let my man go, but I wired full particulars to
     Forbes this morning. If he is quick enough to catch his bird, well
     and good. But if, as I shrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty
     before he gets there, why, all the better for the government. I fancy
     that Lord Holdhurst for one, and Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would
     very much rather that the affair never got as far as a police-court.

     "My God!" gasped our client. "Do you tell me that during these long
     ten weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very room with
     me all the time?"

     "So it was."

     "And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!"

     "Hum! I am afraid Joseph's character is a rather deeper and more
     dangerous one than one might judge from his appearance. From what I
     have heard from him this morning, I gather that he has lost heavily
     in dabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do anything on earth
     to better his fortunes. Being an absolutely selfish man, when a
     chance presented itself he did not allow either his sister's
     happiness or your reputation to hold his hand."

     Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. "My head whirls," said he. "Your
     words have dazed me."

     "The principal difficulty in your case," remarked Holmes, in his
     didactic fashion, "lay in the fact of there being too much evidence.
     What was vital was overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant. Of all
     the facts which were presented to us we had to pick just those which
     we deemed to be essential, and then piece them together in their
     order, so as to reconstruct this very remarkable chain of events. I
     had already begun to suspect Joseph, from the fact that you had
     intended to travel home with him that night, and that therefore it
     was a likely enough thing that he should call for you, knowing the
     Foreign Office well, upon his way. When I heard that some one had
     been so anxious to get into the bedroom, in which no one but Joseph
     could have concealed anything--you told us in your narrative how you
     had turned Joseph out when you arrived with the doctor--my suspicions
     all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt was made on the
     first night upon which the nurse was absent, showing that the
     intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house."

     "How blind I have been!"

     "The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are these:
     this Joseph Harrison entered the office through the Charles Street
     door, and knowing his way he walked straight into your room the
     instant after you left it. Finding no one there he promptly rang the
     bell, and at the instant that he did so his eyes caught the paper
     upon the table. A glance showed him that chance had put in his way a
     State document of immense value, and in an instant he had thrust it
     into his pocket and was gone. A few minutes elapsed, as you remember,
     before the sleepy commissionaire drew your attention to the bell, and
     those were just enough to give the thief time to make his escape.

     "He made his way to Woking by the first train, and having examined
     his booty and assured himself that it really was of immense value, he
     had concealed it in what he thought was a very safe place, with the
     intention of taking it out again in a day or two, and carrying it to
     the French embassy, or wherever he thought that a long price was to
     be had. Then came your sudden return. He, without a moment's warning,
     was bundled out of his room, and from that time onward there were
     always at least two of you there to prevent him from regaining his
     treasure. The situation to him must have been a maddening one. But at
     last he thought he saw his chance. He tried to steal in, but was
     baffled by your wakefulness. You remember that you did not take your
     usual draught that night."

     "I remember."

     "I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught efficacious,
     and that he quite relied upon your being unconscious. Of course, I
     understood that he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done
     with safety. Your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted. I
     kept Miss Harrison in it all day so that he might not anticipate us.
     Then, having given him the idea that the coast was clear, I kept
     guard as I have described. I already knew that the papers were
     probably in the room, but I had no desire to rip up all the planking
     and skirting in search of them. I let him take them, therefore, from
     the hiding-place, and so saved myself an infinity of trouble. Is
     there any other point which I can make clear?"

     "Why did he try the window on the first occasion," I asked, "when he
     might have entered by the door?"

     "In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. On the
     other hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. Anything
     else?"

     "You do not think," asked Phelps, "that he had any murderous
     intention? The knife was only meant as a tool."

     "It may be so," answered Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "I can only
     say for certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to whose
     mercy I should be extremely unwilling to trust."
                          THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP

     Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of
     the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to opium.
     The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak
     when he was at college; for having read De Quincey's description of
     his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum
     in an attempt to produce the same effects. He found, as so many more
     have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of,
     and for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object
     of mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see
     him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point
     pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man.

     One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell, about
     the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I
     sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap
     and made a little face of disappointment.

     "A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out."

     I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.

     We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps
     upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some
     dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.

     "You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, suddenly
     losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my
     wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm in such trouble!"
     she cried; "I do so want a little help."

     "Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney.  How
     you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came
     in."

     "I didn't know what to do, so I came straight to you." That was
     always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to
     a light-house.

     "It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine and
     water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should
     you rather that I sent James off to bed?"

     "Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about
     Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about
     him!"

     It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband's
     trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school
     companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could
     find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we
     could bring him back to her?

     It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late he
     had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the
     farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been
     confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered,
     in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him eight-and-forty
     hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of the docks,
     breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. There he was to
     be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar of Gold, in Upper Swandam
     Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a young and timid woman,
     make her way into such a place and pluck her husband out from among
     the ruffians who surrounded him?

     There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it.
     Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second thought,
     why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical adviser, and
     as such I had influence over him. I could manage it better if I were
     alone. I promised her on my word that I would send him home in a cab
     within two hours if he were indeed at the address which she had given
     me. And so in ten minutes I had left my armchair and cheery
     sitting-room behind me, and was speeding eastward in a hansom on a
     strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time, though the future
     only could show how strange it was to be.

     But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure.
     Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves
     which line the north side of the river to the east of London Bridge.
     Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of
     steps leading down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, I found
     the den of which I was in search. Ordering my cab to wait, I passed
     down the steps, worn hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread of
     drunken feet; and by the light of a flickering oil-lamp above the
     door I found the latch and made my way into a long, low room, thick
     and heavy with the brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden
     berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship.

     Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in
     strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown
     back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark,
     lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows
     there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint,
     as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes.
     The most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others
     talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their
     conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into
     silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to
     the words of his neighbour. At the farther end was a small brazier of
     burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there
     sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists,
     and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire.

     As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for
     me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.

     "Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friend of
     mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him."

     There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering
     through the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring
     out at me.

     "My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state of
     reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, what o'clock
     is it?"

     "Nearly eleven."

     "Of what day?"

     "Of Friday, June 19th."

     "Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What
     d'you want to frighten a chap for?" He sank his face onto his arms
     and began to sob in a high treble key.

     "I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this
     two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

     "So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a
     few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. But I'll go
     home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate--poor little Kate. Give me
     your hand! Have you a cab?"

     "Yes, I have one waiting."

     "Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I owe,
     Watson. I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself."

     I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers,
     holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug,
     and looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat
     by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice
     whispered, "Walk past me, and then look back at me." The words fell
     quite distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have
     come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as
     ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling
     down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer
     lassitude from his fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back.
     It took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a
     cry of astonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see
     him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull
     eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and
     grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made
     a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned
     his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a
     doddering, loose-lipped senility.

     "Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?"

     "As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If you
     would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of
     yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you."

     "I have a cab outside."

     "Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he
     appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should recommend
     you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you
     have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shall be
     with you in five minutes."

           It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes' requests,
     for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with
     such a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney was
     once confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished; and
     for the rest, I could not wish anything better than to be associated
     with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the
     normal condition of his existence. In a few minutes I had written my
     note, paid Whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him
     driven through the darkness. In a very short time a decrepit figure
     had emerged from the opium den, and I was walking down the street
     with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffled along with a bent
     back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing quickly round, he
     straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

     "I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you imagine that I have added
     opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little
     weaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical views."

     "I was certainly surprised to find you there."

     "But not more so than I to find you."

     "I came to find a friend."

     "And I to find an enemy."

     "An enemy?"

     "Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my natural prey.
     Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkable inquiry, and
     I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings of these
     sots, as I have done before now. Had I been recognised in that den my
     life would not have been worth an hour's purchase; for I have used it
     before now for my own purposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it
     has sworn to have vengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back
     of that building, near the corner of Paul's Wharf, which could tell
     some strange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless
     nights."

     "What! You do not mean bodies?"

     "Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had £1000 for every
     poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It is the vilest
     murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that Neville St. Clair
     has entered it never to leave it more. But our trap should be here."
     He put his two forefingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly--a
     signal which was answered by a similar whistle from the distance,
     followed shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses'
     hoofs.

     "Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through the
     gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side
     lanterns. "You'll come with me, won't you?"

     "If I can be of use."

     "Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more
     so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one."

     "The Cedars?"

     "Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while I
     conduct the inquiry."

     "Where is it, then?"

     "Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us."

     "But I am all in the dark."

     "Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump up here.
     All right, John; we shall not need you. Here's half a crown. Look out
     for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her head. So long, then!"

     He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through the
     endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which widened
     gradually, until we were flying across a broad balustraded bridge,
     with the murky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. Beyond lay
     another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence broken only
     by the heavy, regular footfall of the policeman, or the songs and
     shouts of some belated party of revellers. A dull wrack was drifting
     slowly across the sky, and a star or two twinkled dimly here and
     there through the rifts of the clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with
     his head sunk upon his breast, and the air of a man who is lost in
     thought, while I sat beside him, curious to learn what this new quest
     might be which seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to
     break in upon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several
     miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of
     suburban villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and
     lit up his pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that
     he is acting for the best.

     "You have a grand gift of silence, Watson," said he. "It makes you
     quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a great thing
     for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not
     over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear little
     woman to-night when she meets me at the door."

     "You forget that I know nothing about it."

     "I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we
     get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get
     nothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can't
     get the end of it into my hand. Now, I'll state the case clearly and
     concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is
     dark to me."

     "Proceed, then."

     "Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Lee a
     gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of
     money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and
     lived generally in good style. By degrees he made friends in the
     neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer,
     by whom he now has two children. He had no occupation, but was
     interested in several companies and went into town as a rule in the
     morning, returning by the 5.14 from Cannon Street every night. Mr.
     St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate
     habits, a good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is
     popular with all who know him. I may add that his whole debts at the
     present moment, as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to
     £88 10s., while he has £220 standing to his credit in the Capital and
     Counties Bank. There is no reason, therefore, to think that money
     troubles have been weighing upon his mind.

     "Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier than
     usual, remarking before he started that he had two important
     commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a
     box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife received a
     telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his departure, to
     the effect that a small parcel of considerable value which she had
     been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of the Aberdeen
     Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up in your London, you will
     know that the office of the company is in Fresno Street, which
     branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you found me to-night. Mrs.
     St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, did some shopping,
     proceeded to the company's office, got her packet, and found herself
     at exactly 4.35 walking through Swandam Lane on her way back to the
     station. Have you followed me so far?"

     "It is very clear."

     "If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.
     Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as
     she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While
     she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an
     ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking
     down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a
     second-floor window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his
     face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his
     hands frantically to her, and then vanished from the window so
     suddenly that it seemed to her that he had been plucked back by some
     irresistible force from behind. One singular point which struck her
     quick feminine eye was that although he wore some dark coat, such as
     he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor necktie.

     "Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the
     steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which you
     found me to-night--and running through the front room she attempted
     to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the
     stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken,
     who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant
     there, pushed her out into the street. Filled with the most maddening
     doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune,
     met in Fresno Street a number of constables with an inspector, all on
     their way to their beat. The inspector and two men accompanied her
     back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor,
     they made their way to the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been
     seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that
     floor there was no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous
     aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar
     stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room during the
     afternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was
     staggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had
     been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which
     lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascade
     of children's bricks. It was the toy which he had promised to bring
     home.

     "This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed,
     made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms
     were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable
     crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led
     into a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the
     wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip,
     which is dry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least
     four and a half feet of water. The bedroom window was a broad one and
     opened from below. On examination traces of blood were to be seen
     upon the windowsill, and several scattered drops were visible upon
     the wooden floor of the bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the
     front room were all the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the
     exception of his coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his
     watch--all were there. There were no signs of violence upon any of
     these garments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.
     Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other
     exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill
     gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, for the
     tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy.

     "And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated
     in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the vilest
     antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was known to have
     been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of her
     husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more
     than an accessory to the crime. His defence was one of absolute
     ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings
     of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he could not account in any way
     for the presence of the missing gentleman's clothes.

     "So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who
     lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly
     the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His
     name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to
     every man who goes much to the City. He is a professional beggar,
     though in order to avoid the police regulations he pretends to a
     small trade in wax vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle
     Street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked,
     a small angle in the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his
     daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap,
     and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends
     into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him.
     I have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of
     making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at
     the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you
     see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him.
     A shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar,
     which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper
     lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which
     present a singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him
     out from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his
     wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which
     may be thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now
     learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the
     last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."

     "But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have done single-handed
     against a man in the prime of life?"

     "He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other
     respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely
     your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one
     limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others."

     "Pray continue your narrative."

     "Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the
     window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her
     presence could be of no help to them in their investigations.
     Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful
     examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw
     any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not arresting
     Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he
     might have communicated with his friend the Lascar, but this fault
     was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched, without anything
     being found which could incriminate him. There were, it is true, some
     blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his
     ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the
     bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not
     long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came
     doubtless from the same source. He denied strenuously having ever
     seen Mr. Neville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes
     in his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to Mrs.
     St. Clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband at the
     window, he declared that she must have been either mad or dreaming.
     He was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the
     inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide
     might afford some fresh clue.

     "And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had
     feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and not Neville St.
     Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And what do you think
     they found in the pockets?"

     "I cannot imagine."

     "No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with pennies
     and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It was no wonder
     that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a human body is a
     different matter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the
     house. It seemed likely enough that the weighted coat had remained
     when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river."

     "But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the room.
     Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?"

     "No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose that
     this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window, there
     is no human eye which could have seen the deed. What would he do
     then? It would of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of
     the tell-tale garments. He would seize the coat, then, and be in the
     act of throwing it out, when it would occur to him that it would swim
     and not sink. He has little time, for he has heard the scuffle
     downstairs when the wife tried to force her way up, and perhaps he
     has already heard from his Lascar confederate that the police are
     hurrying up the street. There is not an instant to be lost. He rushes
     to some secret hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his
     beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands
     into the pockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it
     out, and would have done the same with the other garments had not he
     heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the
     window when the police appeared."

     "It certainly sounds feasible."

     "Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better.
     Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but
     it could not be shown that there had ever before been anything
     against him. He had for years been known as a professional beggar,
     but his life appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one.
     There the matter stands at present, and the questions which have to
     be solved--what Neville St. Clair was doing in the opium den, what
     happened to him when there, where is he now, and what Hugh Boone had
     to do with his disappearance--are all as far from a solution as ever.
     I confess that I cannot recall any case within my experience which
     looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such
     difficulties."

     While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of
     events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town
     until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled
     along with a country hedge upon either side of us. Just as he
     finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages, where a
     few lights still glimmered in the windows.

     "We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my companion. "We have touched
     on three English counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex,
     passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light
     among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a
     woman whose anxious ears have already, I have little doubt, caught
     the clink of our horse's feet."

     "But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?" I asked.

     "Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. Mrs.
     St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may
     rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend
     and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her
     husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!"

     We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own
     grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and springing
     down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led
     to the house. As we approached, the door flew open, and a little
     blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light
     mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck
     and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against the flood of
     light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her
     body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and
     parted lips, a standing question.

     "Well?" she cried, "well?" And then, seeing that there were two of
     us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my
     companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

     "No good news?"

     "None."

     "No bad?"

     "No."

     "Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have had
     a long day."

     "This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to me
     in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for
     me to bring him out and associate him with this investigation."

     "I am delighted to see you," said she, pressing my hand warmly. "You
     will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our
     arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenly
     upon us."

     "My dear madam," said I, "I am an old campaigner, and if I were not I
     can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of any
     assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall be indeed
     happy."

     "Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the lady as we entered a well-lit
     dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out,
     "I should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to
     which I beg that you will give a plain answer."

     "Certainly, madam."

     "Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given to
     fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion."

     "Upon what point?"

     "In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?"

     Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. "Frankly,
     now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at
     him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.

     "Frankly, then, madam, I do not."

     "You think that he is dead?"

     "I do."

     "Murdered?"

     "I don't say that. Perhaps."

     "And on what day did he meet his death?"

     "On Monday."

     "Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it
     is that I have received a letter from him to-day."

     Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised.

     "What!" he roared.

     "Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper
     in the air.

     "May I see it?"

     "Certainly."

     He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon
     the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left
     my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a
     very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with
     the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was
     considerably after midnight.

     "Coarse writing," murmured Holmes. "Surely this is not your husband's
     writing, madam."

     "No, but the enclosure is."

     "I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and
     inquire as to the address."

     "How can you tell that?"

     "The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried
     itself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that
     blotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straight off,
     and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This man has
     written the name, and there has then been a pause before he wrote the
     address, which can only mean that he was not familiar with it. It is,
     of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important as trifles.
     Let us now see the letter. Ha!  there has been an enclosure here!"

     "Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring."

     "And you are sure that this is your husband's hand?"

     "One of his hands."

     "One?"

     "His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual
     writing, and yet I know it well."

     "Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a huge
     error which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait in
     patience.
     "Neville.

     Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no
     water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in Gravesend by a man with a dirty
     thumb. Ha! And the flap has been gummed, if I am not very much in
     error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco. And you have no
     doubt that it is your husband's hand, madam?"

     "None. Neville wrote those words."

     "And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair, the
     clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the danger is
     over."

     "But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes."

     "Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent. The
     ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from him."

     "No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!"

     "Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only
     posted to-day."

     "That is possible."

     "If so, much may have happened between."

     "Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all is well
     with him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I should know
     if evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him last he cut
     himself in the bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room rushed upstairs
     instantly with the utmost certainty that something had happened. Do
     you think that I would respond to such a trifle and yet be ignorant
     of his death?"

     "I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman may
     be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. And
     in this letter you certainly have a very strong piece of evidence to
     corroborate your view. But if your husband is alive and able to write
     letters, why should he remain away from you?"

     "I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable."

     "And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?"

     "No."

     "And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?"

     "Very much so."

     "Was the window open?"

     "Yes."

     "Then he might have called to you?"

     "He might."

     "He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?"

     "Yes."

     "A call for help, you thought?"

     "Yes. He waved his hands."

     "But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at the
     unexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?"

     "It is possible."

     "And you thought he was pulled back?"

     "He disappeared so suddenly."

     "He might have leaped back. You did not see anyone else in the room?"

     "No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and the
     Lascar was at the foot of the stairs."

     "Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his ordinary
     clothes on?"

     "But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare throat."

     "Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?"

     "Never."

     "Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?"

     "Never."

     "Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about
     which I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little
     supper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day to-morrow."

     A large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our
     disposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary after
     my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who, when
     he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even
     for a week, without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts,
     looking at it from every point of view until he had either fathomed
     it or convinced himself that his data were insufficient. It was soon
     evident to me that he was now preparing for an all-night sitting. He
     took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown,
     and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed and
     cushions from the sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a
     sort of Eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged,
     with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front
     of him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old
     briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner
     of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent,
     motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline
     features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a
     sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found the summer sun
     shining into the apartment. The pipe was still between his lips, the
     smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco
     haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which I had seen upon
     the previous night.

     "Awake, Watson?" he asked.

     "Yes."

     "Game for a morning drive?"

     "Certainly."

     "Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I know where the stable-boy
     sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out." He chuckled to himself
     as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the
     sombre thinker of the previous night.

     As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one was
     stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly finished
     when Holmes returned with the news that the boy was putting in the
     horse.

     "I want to test a little theory of mine," said he, pulling on his
     boots. "I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the presence of
     one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve to be kicked from
     here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the key of the affair now."

     "And where is it?" I asked, smiling.

     "In the bathroom," he answered. "Oh, yes, I am not joking," he
     continued, seeing my look of incredulity. "I have just been there,
     and I have taken it out, and I have got it in this Gladstone bag.
     Come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will not fit the lock."

     We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into the
     bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap, with
     the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both sprang in, and
     away we dashed down the London Road. A few country carts were
     stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but the lines of
     villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as some city in a
     dream.

     "It has been in some points a singular case," said Holmes, flicking
     the horse on into a gallop. "I confess that I have been as blind as a
     mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at
     all."

     In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily from
     their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey side.
     Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the river, and
     dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the right and found
     ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well known to the force,
     and the two constables at the door saluted him. One of them held the
     horse's head while the other led us in.

     "Who is on duty?" asked Holmes.

     "Inspector Bradstreet, sir."

     "Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?" A tall, stout official had come down
     the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. "I
     wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet." "Certainly, Mr.
     Holmes. Step into my room here." It was a small, office-like room,
     with a huge ledger upon the table, and a telephone projecting from
     the wall. The inspector sat down at his desk.

     "What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?"

     "I called about that beggarman, Boone--the one who was charged with
     being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of
     Lee."

     "Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries."

     "So I heard. You have him here?"

     "In the cells."

     "Is he quiet?"

     "Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel."

     "Dirty?"

     "Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his face is
     as black as a tinker's. Well, when once his case has been settled, he
     will have a regular prison bath; and I think, if you saw him, you
     would agree with me that he needed it."

     "I should like to see him very much."

     "Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leave your
     bag."

     "No, I think that I'll take it."

     "Very good. Come this way, if you please." He led us down a passage,
     opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to
     a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side.

     "The third on the right is his," said the inspector. "Here it is!" He
     quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced
     through.

     "He is asleep," said he. "You can see him very well."

     We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his face
     towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He
     was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a
     coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He
     was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which
     covered his face could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad
     wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by
     its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that
     three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright
     red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead.

     "He's a beauty, isn't he?" said the inspector.

     "He certainly needs a wash," remarked Holmes. "I had an idea that he
     might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me." He
     opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my
     astonishment, a very large bath-sponge.

     "He! he! You are a funny one," chuckled the inspector.

     "Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very
     quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure."

     "Well, I don't know why not," said the inspector. "He doesn't look a
     credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?" He slipped his key into the
     lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The sleeper half
     turned, and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes
     stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it
     twice vigorously across and down the prisoner's face.

     "Let me introduce you," he shouted, "to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of
     Lee, in the county of Kent."

     Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man's face peeled off
     under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown
     tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and
     the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! A
     twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in
     his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and
     smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy
     bewilderment. Then suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a
     scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow.

     "Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, the missing
     man. I know him from the photograph."

     The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons
     himself to his destiny. "Be it so," said he. "And pray what am I
     charged with?"

     "With making away with Mr. Neville St.--Oh, come, you can't be
     charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of
     it," said the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have been twenty-seven
     years in the force, but this really takes the cake."

     "If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has
     been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally detained."

     "No crime, but a very great error has been committed," said Holmes.
     "You would have done better to have trusted your wife."

     "It was not the wife; it was the children," groaned the prisoner.
     "God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God!
     What an exposure! What can I do?"

     Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him
     kindly on the shoulder.

     "If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up," said he,
     "of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you
     convince the police authorities that there is no possible case
     against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the details
     should find their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I
     am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit
     it to the proper authorities. The case would then never go into court
     at all."

     "God bless you!" cried the prisoner passionately. "I would have
     endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my
     miserable secret as a family blot to my children.

     "You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a
     schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent
     education. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally
     became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editor
     wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis,
     and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point from which all
     my adventures started. It was only by trying begging as an amateur
     that I could get the facts upon which to base my articles. When an
     actor I had, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had
     been famous in the green-room for my skill. I took advantage now of
     my attainments. I painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as
     possible I made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist
     by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red
     head of hair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the
     business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as
     a beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home
     in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no less
     than 26s. 4d.

     "I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until,
     some time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served
     upon me for £25. I was at my wit's end where to get the money, but a
     sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's grace from the
     creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent the time
     in begging in the City under my disguise. In ten days I had the money
     and had paid the debt.

     "Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work
     at £2 a week when I knew that I could earn as much in a day by
     smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground,
     and sitting still. It was a long fight between my pride and the
     money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up reporting and sat
     day after day in the corner which I had first chosen, inspiring pity
     by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers. Only one man
     knew my secret. He was the keeper of a low den in which I used to
     lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could every morning emerge as a
     squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a
     well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by
     me for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was safe in his
     possession.

     "Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of
     money. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could
     earn £700 a year--which is less than my average takings--but I had
     exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also in a
     facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made me quite a
     recognised character in the City. All day a stream of pennies, varied
     by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in which I
     failed to take £2.

     "As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the country,
     and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my
     real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had business in the City.
     She little knew what.

     "Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my room
     above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to my
     horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street,
     with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up
     my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the Lascar,
     entreated him to prevent anyone from coming up to me. I heard her
     voice downstairs, but I knew that she could not ascend. Swiftly I
     threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar, and put on my
     pigments and wig. Even a wife's eyes could not pierce so complete a
     disguise. But then it occurred to me that there might be a search in
     the room, and that the clothes might betray me. I threw open the
     window, reopening by my violence a small cut which I had inflicted
     upon myself in the bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat, which
     was weighted by the coppers which I had just transferred to it from
     the leather bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of the
     window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes would
     have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of constables up
     the stair, and a few minutes after I found, rather, I confess, to my
     relief, that instead of being identified as Mr. Neville St. Clair, I
     was arrested as his murderer.

     "I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I was
     determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence my
     preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would be terribly
     anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the Lascar at a
     moment when no constable was watching me, together with a hurried
     scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to fear."

     "That note only reached her yesterday," said Holmes.

     "Good God! What a week she must have spent!"

     "The police have watched this Lascar," said Inspector Bradstreet,
     "and I can quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a
     letter unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor customer of
     his, who forgot all about it for some days."

     "That was it," said Holmes, nodding approvingly; "I have no doubt of
     it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?"

     "Many times; but what was a fine to me?"

     "It must stop here, however," said Bradstreet. "If the police are to
     hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone."

     "I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take."

     "In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps may
     be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out. I am
     sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for having
     cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your results."

     "I reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting upon five pillows
     and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if we drive to
     Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast."