The Adventure of the Second Stain

I had intended "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" to be the
last of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which
I should ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine
was not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of many
hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it
caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the
singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man.
The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has
shown to the continued publication of his experiences. So long
as he was in actual professional practice the records of his
successes were of some practical value to him, but since he has
definitely retired from London and betaken himself to study and
bee-farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful
to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this
matter should be strictly observed. It was only upon my repre-
senting to him that I had given a promise that "The Adventure of
the Second Stain" should be published when the times were
ripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this
long series of episodes should culminate in the most important
international case which he has ever been called upon to handle,
that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully
guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the
public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in
certain details, the public will readily understand that there is an
excellent reason for my reticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be
nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found
two visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble
room in Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed,
and dominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger,
twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant,
hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty of
body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope,
Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising statesman in
the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee,
and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it
was business of the most pressing importance which had brought
them. The Premier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly
over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face
looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary
pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of
his watch-chain.
"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight
o'clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It
was at his suggestion that we have both come to you."
"Have you informed the police?"
"No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive
manner for which he was famous. "We have not done so, nor is
it possible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in
the long run, mean to inform the public. This is what we
particularly desire to avoid."
"And why. sir?"
"Because the document in question is of such immense impor-
tance that its publication might very easily -- I might almost say
probably -- lead to European complications of the utmost mo-
ment. It is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon
the issue. Unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost
secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is
aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents should be
generally known."
"I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much
obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under
which this document disappeared."
"That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The
letter -- for it was a letter from a foreign potentate -- was received
six days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it
in my safe, but I have taken it across each evening to my house
in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked
despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I
actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner and saw
the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-
box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night.
I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to
swear that no one could have entered the room during the night.
And yet I repeat that the paper is gone."
"What time did you dine?"
"Half-past seven."
"How long was it before you went to bed?"
"My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was
half-past eleven before we went to our room."
"Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?"
"No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-
maid in the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during
the rest of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been
with us for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly
have known that there was anything more valuable than the
ordinary departmental papers in my despatch-box."
"Who did know of the existence of that letter?"
"No one in the house."
"Surely your wife knew?"
"No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the
paper this morning."
The Premier nodded approvingly.
"I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public
duty," said he. "I am convinced that in the case of a secret of
this importance it would rise superior to the most intimate do-
mestic ties."
The European Secretary bowed.
"You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I
have never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter."
"Could she have guessed?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed -- nor could
anyone have guessed."
"Have you lost any documents before?"
"No, sir."
"Who is there in England who did know of the existence of
this letter?"
"Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday,
but the pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting
was increased by the solemn warning which was given by the
Prime Minister. Good heavens, to think that within a few hours I
should myself have lost it!" His handsome face was distorted
with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a
moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive,
ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was
replaced, and the gentle voice had returned. "Besides the mem-
bers of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental
officials who know of the letter. No one else in England, Mr.
Holmes, I assure you."
"But abroad?"
"I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who
wrote it. I am well convinced that his Ministers -- that the usual
official channels have not been employed."
Holmes considered for some little time.
"Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this docu-
ment is, and why its disappearance should have such momentous
consequences?"
The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Pre-
mier's shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown.
"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue
colour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion.
It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to --"
"I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that, interesting and indeed
essential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to the
root of things. What was the letter?"
"That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear
that I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the
aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can find
such an envelope as I describe with its enclosure, you will have
deserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it
lies in our power to bestow."
Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
"You are two of the most busy men in the country," said he,
"and in my own small way I have also a good many calls upon
me. I regret exceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter,
and any continuation of this interview would be a waste of
time."
The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of
his deep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. "I am not
accustomed, sir," he began, but mastered his anger and resumed
his seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence. Then the old
statesman shrugged his shoulders.
"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are
right, and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we
give you our entire confidence."
"I agree with you," said the younger statesman.
"Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and
that of your colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patrio-
tism also, for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for the
country than that this affair should come out."
"You may safely trust us."
"The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has
been ruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this coun-
try. It has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility
entirely. Inquiries have shown that his Ministers know nothing of
the matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a
manner, and certain phrases in it are of so provocative a charac-
ter, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to a most danger-
ous state of feeling in this country. There would be such a
ferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within a week of
the publication of that letter this country would be involved in a
great war."
Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the
Premier.
"Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter -- this letter which
may well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the
lives of a hundred thousand men -- which has become lost in this
unaccountable fashion."
"Have you informed the sender?"
"Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched."
"Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter."
"No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already
understands that he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed
manner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his country
than to us if this letter were to come out."
"If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come
out? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?"
"There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high
international politics. But if you consider the European situation
you will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole
of Europe is an armed camp. There is a double league which
makes a fair balance of military power. Great Britain holds the
scales. If Britain were driven into war with one confederacy, it
would assure the supremacy of the other confederacy, whether
they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?"
"Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of this
potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach
between his country and ours?"
"Yes, sir."
"And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the
hands of an enemy?"
"To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probably
speeding on its way thither at the present instant as fast as steam
can take it."
Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned
aloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder.
"It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame
you. There is no precaution which you have neglected. Now,
Mr. Holmes, you are in full possession of the facts. What course
do you recommend?"
Holmes shook his head mournfully.
"You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there
will be war?"
"I think it is very probable."
"Then, sir, prepare for war."
"That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes."
"Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken
after eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and
his wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss was
found out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening between seven-
thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since
whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and would
naturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if a document
of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now?
No one has any reason to retain it. It has been passed rapidly on
to those who need it. What chance have we now to overtake or
even to trace it? It is beyond our reach."
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that
the matter is indeed out of our hands."
"Let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document was
taken by the maid or by the valet --"
"They are both old and tried servants."
"I understand you to say that your room is on the second
floor, that there is no entrance from without, and that from
within no one could go up unobserved. It must, then, be some-
body in the house who has taken it. To whom would the thief
take it? To one of several international spies and secret agents
whose names are tolerably familiar to me. There are three who
may be said to be the heads of their profession. I will begin my
research by going round and finding if each of them is at his
post. If one is missing -- especially if he has disappeared since
last night -- we will have some indication as to where the docu-
ment has gone."
"Why should he be missing?" asked the European Secretary.
"He would take the letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as
not."
"I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their
relations with the Embassies are often strained."
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
"I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so
valuable a prize to headquarters with his own hands. I think that
your course of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we
cannot neglect all our other duties on account of this one misfor-
tune. Should there be any fresh developments during the day we
shall communicate with you, and you will no doubt let us know
the results of your own inquiries."
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe
in silence and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I had
opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational
crime which had occurred in London the night before, when my
friend gave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe
down upon the mantelpiece.
"Yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it.
The situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we
could be sure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it
has not yet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question of
money with these fellows, and I have the British treasury behind
me. If it's on the market I'll buy it -- if it means another penny
on the income-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow might hold it
back to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luck
on the other. There are only those three capable of playing so
bold a game -- there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo
Lucas. I will see each of them."
I glanced at my morning paper.
"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"
"Yes."
"You will not see him."
"Why not?"
"He was murdered in his house last night."
My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our
adventures that it was with a sense of exultation that I realized
how completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement,
and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was the
paragraph which I had been engaged in reading when he rose
from his chair.
MURDER IN WESTMINSTER
A crime of mysterious character was committed last night
at 16 Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and se-
cluded rows of eighteenth century houses which lie between
the river and the Abbey, almost in the shadow of the great
Tower of the Houses of Parliament. This small but select
mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr. Eduardo
Lucas, well known in society circles both on account of his
charming personality and because he has the well-deserved
reputation of being one of the best amateur tenors in the
country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-four years
of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an
elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former
retires early and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet
was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith.
From ten o'clock onward Mr. Lucas had the house to
himself. What occured during that time has not yet tran-
spired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constable Barrett,
passing along Godolphin Street, observed that the door of
No. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer.
Perceiving a light in the front room, he advanced into the
passage and again knocked, but without reply. He then
pushed open the door and entered. The room was in a state
of wild disorder, the furniture being all swept to one side,
and one chair lying on its back in the centre. Beside this
chair, and still grasping one of its legs, lay the unfortunate
tenant of the house. He had been stabbed to the heart and
must have died instantly. The knife with which the crime
had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked
down from a trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of
the walls. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive
of the crime, for there had been no attempt to remove the
valuable contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so
well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fate
will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a wide-
spread circle of friends.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of this?" asked Holmes,
after a long pause.
"It is an amazing coincidence."
"A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had
named as possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent
death during the very hours when we know that that drama was
being enacted. The odds are enormous against its being coinci-
dence. No figures could express them. No, my dear Watson, the
two events are connected -- must be connected. It is for us to find
the connection."
"But now the official police must know all."
"Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. They
know -- and shall know -- nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only we
know of both events, and can trace the relation between them.
There is one obvious point which would, in any case, have
turned my suspicions against Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westmin-
ster, is only a few minutes' walk from Whitehall Terrace. The
other secret agents whom I have named live in the extreme West
End. It was easier, therefore, for Lucas than for the others to
establish a connection or receive a message from the European
Secretary's household -- a small thing, and yet where events are
compressed into a few hours it may prove essential. Halloa! what
have we here?"
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver.
Holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to
me.
"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough
to step up," said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already so distin-
guished that morning, was further honoured by the entrance of
the most lovely woman in London: I had often heard of the
beauty of the youngest daughter of the Duke of Belminster, but
no description of it, and no contemplation of colourless photo-
graphs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm and the
beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet as we saw it
that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the
first thing to impress the observer. The cheek was lovely but it
was paled with emotion, the eyes were bright, but it was the
brightness of fever, the sensitive mouth was tight and drawn in
an effort after self-command. Terror -- not beauty -- was what
sprang first to the eye as our fair visitor stood framed for an
instant in the open door.
"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes, madam, he has been here."
"Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him that I came
here." Holmes bowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair.
"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg
that you will sit down and tell me what you desire, but I fear
that I cannot make any unconditional promise."
She swept across the room and seated herself with her back to
the window. It was a queenly presence -- tall, graceful, and
intensely womanly.
"Mr. Holmes," she said -- and her white-gloved hands clasped
and unclasped as she spoke -- "I will speak frankly to you in
the hopes that it may induce you to speak frankly in return.
There is complete confidence between my husband and me on
all matters save one. That one is politics. On this his lips are
sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I am aware that there was a
most deplorable occurrence in our house last night. I know that
a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is political my
husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence. Now it
is essential -- essential, I say -- that I should thoroughly under-
stand it. You are the only other person, save only these politi-
cians, who knows the true facts. I beg you then, Mr. Holmes, to
tell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. Tell
me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no regard for your client's interests
keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests, if he would
only see it, would be best served by taking me into his complete
confidence. What was this paper which was stolen?"
"Madam, what you ask me is really impossible."
She groaned and sank her face in her hands.
"You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks
fit to keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has
only learned the true facts under the pledge of professional
secrecy, to tell what he has withheld? It is not fair to ask it. It is
him whom you must ask."
"I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But
without your telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may
do a great service if you would enlighten me on one point."
"What is it, madam?"
"Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this
incident?"
"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a
very unfonunate effect."
"Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts
are resolved.
"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which
my husband dropped in the first shock of this disaster I under-
stood that terrible public consequences might arise from the loss
of this document."
"If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it."
"Of what nature are they?"
"Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can
possibly answer."
"Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame
you, Mr. Holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and
you on your side will not, I am sure, think the worse of me
because I desire, even against his will, to share my husband's
anxieties. Once more I beg that you will say nothing of my
visit.
She looked back at us from the door, and I had a last impres-
sion of that beautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the
drawn mouth. Then she was gone.
"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes
with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in
the slam of the front door. "What was the fair lady's game?
What did she really want?"
"Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very
natural. "
"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson -- her manner, her
suppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking
queshons. Remember that she comes of a caste who do not
lightly show emotion."
"She was certainly much moved."
"Remember also the curious earnestness with which she as-
sured us that it was best for her husband that she should know
all. What did she mean by that? And you must have observed,
Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at her back. She
did not wish us to read her expression."
"Yes, she chose the one chair in the room."
"And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You
remember the woman at Margate whom I suspected for the same
reason. No powder on her nose -- that proved to be the correct
solution. How can you build on such a quicksand? Their most
trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary
conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs. Good-
morning, Watson."
"You are off?"
"Yes, I will while away the morning at Godolphin Street with
our friends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies
the solution of our problem, though I must admit that I have not
an inkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital mistake to
theorize in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my good
Watson, and receive any fresh visitors. I'll join you at lunch if I
am able."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a mood
which his friends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran
out and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his
violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours,
and hardly answered the casual questions which I put to him. It
was evident to me that things were not going well with him or
his quest. He would say nothing of the case, and it was from the
papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest, and the arrest
with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet of the
deceased. The coroner's jury brought in the obvious Wilful
Murder, but the parties remained as unknown as ever. No motive
was suggested. The room was full of articles of value, but none
had been taken. The dead man's papers had not been tampered
with. They were carefully examined, and showed that he was a
keen student of international politics, an indefatigable gossip, a
remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter writer. He had been on
intimate terms with the leading politicians of several countries.
But nothing sensational was discovered among the documents
which filled his drawers. As to his relations with women, they
appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial. He had many
acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom
he loved. His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. His
death was an absolute mystery and likely to remain so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a council of
despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could
be sustained against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith
that night. The alibi was complete. It is true that he started home
at an hour which should have brought him to Westminster before
the time when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation
that he had walked part of the way seemed probable enough in
view of the fineness of the night. He had actually arrived at
twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed by the unex-
pected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with his
master. Several of the dead man's possessions -- notably a small
case of razors -- had been found in the valet's boxes, but he
explained that they had been presents from the deceased, and the
housekeeper was able to corroborate the story. Mitton had been
in Lucas's employment for three years. It was noticeable that
Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continent with him. Sometimes
he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitton was left in
charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper,
she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master
had a visitor he had himself admitted him.
So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could
follow it in the papers. If Holmes knew more, he kept his own
counsel, but, as he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him
into his confidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touch
with every development. Upon the fourth day there appeared a
long telegram from Paris which seemed to solve the whole
question.
A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police
[said the Daily Telegraph] which raises the veil which hung
round the tragic fate of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his
death by violence last Monday night at Godolphin Street,
Westminster. Our readers will remember that the deceased
gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that some
suspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down
on an alibi. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as
Mme. Henri Fournaye, occupying a small villa in the Rue
Austerlitz, was reported to the authorities by her servants as
being insane. An examination showed she had indeed de-
veloped mania of a dangerous and permanent form. On
inquiry, the police have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye
only returned from a journey to London on Tuesday last,
and there is evidence to connect her with the crime at
Westminster. A comparison of photographs has proved
conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo Lucas
were really one and the same person, and that the deceased
had for some reason lived a double life in London and
Paris. Mme. Fournaye, who is of Creole origin, is of an
extremely excitable nature, and has suffered in the past
from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to frenzy. It
is conjectured that it was in one of these that she committed
the terrible crime which has caused such a sensation in
London. Her movements upon the Monday night have not
yet been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering
to her description attracted much attention at Charing Cross
Station on Tuesday morning by the wildness of her appear-
ance and the violence or her gestures. It is probable, there-
fore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or
that its immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman
out of her mind. At present she is unable to give any
coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold out no
hopes of the reestablishment of her reason. There is evi-
dence that a woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye,
was seen for some hours upon Monday night watching the
house in Godolphin Street.
"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read the account
aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from the table and
paced up and down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but
if I have told you nothing in the last three days, it is because
there is nothing to tell. Even now this report from Paris does not
help us much."
"Surely it is final as regards the man's death."
"The man's death is a mere incident -- a trivial episode -- in
comparison with our real task, which is to trace this document
and save a European catastrophe. Only one important thing has
happened in the last three days, and that is that nothing has
happened. I get reports almost hourly from the government, and
it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble.
Now, if this letter were loose -- no, it can't be loose -- but if it
isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held back?
That's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was it
indeed, a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the
night when the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him?
If so, why is it not among his papers? Did this mad wife of his
carry it off with her? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How could
I search for it without the French police having their suspicions
aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where the law is as
dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every man's hand is against
us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to
a successful conclusion, it will certainly represent the crowning
glory of my career. Ah, here is my latest from the front!" He
glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in. "Hal-
loa! Lestrade seems to have observed something of interest. Put
on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to
Westminster."
It was my first visit to the scene of the crime -- a high, dingy,
narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century
which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us
from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a big
constable had opened the door and let us in. The room into
which we were shown was that in which the crime had been
committed, but no trace of it now remained save an ugly,
irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a small square
drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse
of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks, highly
polished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weap-
ons, one of which had been used on that tragic night. In the
window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the
apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to
a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy.
"Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
"Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time.
No doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door -- surprise
visit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments -- he
let her in, couldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she
had traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another, and
then with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn't all
done in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over
yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her
off with it. We've got it all clear as if we had seen it."
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"And yet you have sent for me?"
"Ah, yes, that's another matter -- a mere trifle, but the sort of
thing you take an interest in -- queer, you know, and what you
might call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact --
can't have, on the face of it."
"What is it, then?"
"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very
careful to keep things in their position. Nothing has been moved.
Officer in charge here day and night. This morning, as the man
was buried and the investigation over -- so far as this room is
concerned -- we thought we could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You
see, it is not fastened down, only just laid there. We had
occasion to raise it. We found --"
"Yes? You found -- "
Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety.
"Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years
what we did find. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great
deal must have soaked through, must it not?"
"Undoubtedly it must."
"Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on
the white woodwork to correspond."
"No stain! But there must --"
"Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains that there
isn't."
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it
over, he showed that it was indeed as he said.
"But the under side is as stained as the upper. It must have
left a mark."
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous
expert.
"Now, I'll show you the explanation. There is a second stain,
but it does not correspond with the other. See for yourself." As
he spoke he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there,
sure enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white
facing of the old-fashioned floor. "What do you make of that,
Mr. Holmes?"
"Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond,
but the carpet has been turned round. As it was square and
unfastened it was easily done."
"The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them
that the carpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough,
for the stains lie above each other -- if you lay it over this way.
But what I want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?"
I could see from Holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating
with inward excitement.
"Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that constable in the
passage been in charge of the place all the time?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it
before us. We'll wait here. You take him into the back room.
You'll be more likely to get a confession out of him alone. Ask
him how he dared to admit people and leave them alone in this
room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Take it for granted. Tell
him you know someone has been here. Press him. Tell him that a
full confession is his only chance of forgiveness. Do exactly
what I tell you!"
"By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!" cried
Lestrade. He darted into the hall, and a few moments later his
bullying voice sounded from the back room.
"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes with frenzied eagerness.
All the demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless
manner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget
from the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and
knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it. One
turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it. It hinged
back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity opened beneath
it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it and drew it out with a
bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty.
"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wooden lid
was replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight
when Lestrade's voice was heard in the passage. He found
Holmes leaning languidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and
patient, endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can see that you
are bored to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed,
all right. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear
of your most inexcusable conduct."
The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room.
"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to
the door last evening -- mistook the house, she did. And then we
got talking. It's lonesome, when you're on duty here all day."
"Well, what happened then?"
"She wanted to see where the crime was done -- had read
about it in the papers, she said. She was a very respectable,
well-spoken young woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her
have a peep. When she saw that mark on the carpet. down she
dropped on the floor, and lay as if she were dead. I ran to the
back and got some water, but I could not bring her to. Then I
went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some brandy, and by
the time I had brought it back the young woman had recovered
and was off -- ashamed of herself, I daresay, and dared not face
me."
"How about moving that drugget?"
"Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back.
You see, she fell on it and it lies on a polished floor with nothing
to keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards."
"It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, Constable
MacPherson," said Lestrade, with dignity. "No doubt you thought
that your breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a
mere glance at that drugget was enough to convince me that
someone had been admitted to the room. It's lucky for you my
man, that nothing is missing, or you would find yourseif in
Queer Street. I'm sorry to have called you down over such a
petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point of the
second stain not corresponding with the first would interest
you."
"Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been
here once, constable?"
"Yes, sir, only once."
"Who was she?"
"Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement
about typewriting and came to the wrong number -- very pleas-
ant, genteel young woman, sir."
"Tall? Handsome?"
"Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you
might say she was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was
very handsome. 'Oh, officer, do let me have a peep!' says she.
She had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say, and I thought
there was no harm in letting her just put her head through the
door.
"How was she dressed?"
"Quiet, sir -- a long mantle down to her feet."
"What time was it?"
"It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the
lamps as I came back with the brandy."
"Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I think that we
have more important work elsewhere."
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room
while the repentant constable opened the door to let us out.
Holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand.
The constable stared intently.
"Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face.
Holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast
pocket, and burst out laughing as we turned down the street.
"Excellent!" said he. "Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings
up for the last act. You will be relieved to hear that there will be
no war, that the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope will suffer
no setback in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet Sovereign
will receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that the Prime
Minister will have no European complication to deal with, and
that with a little tact and management upon our part nobody will
be a penny the worse for what might have been a very ugly
incident."
My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man.
"You have solved it!" I cried.
"Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as
dark as ever. But we have so much that it will be our own fault if
we cannot get the rest. We wiil go straight to Whitehall Terrace
and bring the matter to a head."
When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary it
was for Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes in-
quired. We were shown into the morning-room.
"Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with her
indignation. "This is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon
your part. I desired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you
a secret, lest my husband should think that I was intruding into
his affairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here and so
showing that there are business relations between us."
"Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I have
been commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I
must therefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in
my hands."
The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an
instant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed -- she tottered -- I
thought that she would faint. Then with a grand effort she rallied
from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignation
chased every other expression from her features.
"You -- you insult me, Mr. Holmes."
"Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up the letter."
She darted to the bell.
"The butler shall show you out."
"Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest
efforts to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter
and all will be set right. If you will work with me I can arrange
everything. If you work against me I must expose you."
She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed
upon his as if she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the
bell, but she had forborne to ring it.
"You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing,
Mr. Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that
you know something. What is it that you know?"
"Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you
fall. I will not speak until you sit down. Thank you."
"I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes."
"One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo
Lucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious
return to the room last night, and of the manner in which you
took the letter from the hiding-place under the carpet."
She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before
she could speak.
"You are mad, Mr. Holmes -- you are mad!" she cried, at
last.
He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was
the face of a woman cut out of a portrait.
"I have carried this because I thought it might be useful,"
said he. "The policeman has recognized it."
She gave a gasp, and her head dropped back in the chair.
"Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The matter may still
be adjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty
ends when I have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take
my advice and be frank with me. It is your only chance."
Her courage was admirable. Even now she would not own
defeat.
"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some
absurd illusion."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for
you. I can see that it is all in vain."
He rang the bell. The butler entered.
"Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?"
"He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one."
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very good, I shall
wait."
The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady
Hilda was down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands
outstretched, her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.
"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded, in a
frenzy of supplication. "For heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love
him so! I would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I
know would break his noble heart."
Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam, that you
have come to your senses even at this last moment! There is not
an instant to lose. Where is the letter?"
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out
a long blue envelope.
"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to heaven I had never seen
it!"
"How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick, quick,
we must think of some way! Where is the despatch-box?"
"Still in his bedroom."
"What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!"
A moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her
hand.
"How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes,
of course you have. Open it!"
From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key.
The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the
blue envelope deep down into the heart of them, between the
leaves of some other document. The box was shut, locked, and
returned to the bedroom.
"Now we are ready for him," said Holmes. "We have still
ten minutes. I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return
you will spend the time in telling me frankly the real meaning of
this extraordinary affair."
"Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything," cried the lady. "Oh,
Mr. Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a
moment of sorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves
her husband as I do, and yet if he knew how I have acted -- how I
have been compelled to act -- he would never forgive me. For his
own honour stands so high that he could not forget or pardon a
lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My happiness, his
happiness, our very lives are at stake!"
"Quick, madam, the time grows short!"
"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter
written before my marriage -- a foolish letter, a letter of an
impulsive, loving girl. I meant no harm, and yet he would have
thought it criminal. Had he read that letter his confidence would
have been forever destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I had
thought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then at last I heard
from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and that
he would lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy. He
said that he would return my letter if I would bring him a certain
document which he described in my husband's despatch-box. He
had some spy in the office who had told him of its existence. He
assured me that no harm could come to my husband. Put your-
self in my position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?"
"Take your husband into your confidence."
"I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side
seemed certain ruin, on the other, terrible as it seemed to take
my husband's paper, still in a matter of politics I could not
understand the consequences, while in a matter of love and trust
they were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took an
impression of his key. This man, Lucas, furnished a duplicate. I
opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed it to
Godolphin Street."
"What happened there, madam?"
"I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed
him into his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I
feared to be alone with the man. I remember that there was a
woman outside as I entered. Our business was soon done. He
had my letter on his desk, I handed him the document. He gave
me the letter. At this instant there was a sound at the door. There
were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly turned back the drug-
get, thrust the document into some hiding-place there, and cov-
ered it over.
"What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a
vision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamed
in French, 'My waiting is not in vain. At last, at last I have
found you with her!' There was a savage struggle. I saw him
with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from
the horrible scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in
the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That night I was happy,
for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the future would
bring.
"It was the next morning that I realized that I had only
exchanged one trouble for another. My husband's anguish at the
loss of his paper went to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself
from there and then kneeling down at his feet and telling him
what I had done. But that again would mean a confession of the
past. I came to you that morning in order to understand the full
enormity of my offence. From the instant that I grasped it my
whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting back my
husband's paper. It must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it
was concealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. If it
had not been for her coming, I should not have known where his
hiding-place was. How was I to get into the room? For two days
I watched the place, but the door was never left open. Last night
I made a last attempt. What I did and how I succeeded, you have
already learned. I brought the paper back with me, and thought
of destroying it, since I could see no way of returning it without
confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear his step
upon the stair!"
The European Secretary burst excitedly into the room.
"Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried.
"I have some hopes."
"Ah, thank heaven!" His face became radiant. "The Prime
Minister is lunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has
nerves of steel, and yet I know that he has hardly slept since this
terrible event. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime Minister to come
up? As to you, dear, I fear that this is a matter of politics. We
will join you in a few minutes in the dining-room."
The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by
the gleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that
he shared the excitement of his young colleague.
"I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?"
"Purely negative as yet," my friend answered. "I have in-
quired at every point where it might be, and I am sure that there
is no danger to be apprehended."
"But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live forever
on such a volcano. We must have something definite."
"I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more
I think of the matter the more convinced I am that the letter has
never left this house."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"If it had it would certainly have been public by now."
"But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his
house?"
"I am not convinced that anyone did take it."
"Then how could it leave the despatch-box?"
"I am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box."
"Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have my
assurance that it left the box."
"Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?"
"No. It was not necessary."
"You may conceivably have overlooked it."
"Impossible, I say."
"But I am not convinced of it. I have known such things to
happen. I presume there are other papers there. Well, it may
have got mixed with them."
"It was on the top."
"Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it."
"No, no, I had everything out."
"Surely it is easily decided, Hope," said the Premier. "Let us
have the despatch-box brought in."
The Secretary rang the bell.
"Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical
waste of time, but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall
be done. Thank you, Jacobs, put it here. I have always had the
key on my watch-chain. Here are the papers, you see. Letter
from Lord Merrow, report from Sir Charles Hardy, memoran-
dum from Belgrade, note on the Russo-German grain taxes,
letter from Madrid, note from Lord Flowers -- Good heavens!
what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!"
The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.
"Yes, it is it -- and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate
you."
"Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But
this is inconceivable -- impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wiz-
ard, a sorcerer! How did you know it was there?"
"Because I knew it was nowhere else."
"I cannot believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to the door.
"Where is my wife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda!
Hilda!" we heard his voice on the stairs.
The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes.
"Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this than meets the
eye. How came the letter back in the box?"
Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those
wonderful eyes.
"We also have our diplomatic secrets," said he and, picking
up his hat, he turned to the door.

The Adventure of the Abbey Grange

It was on a bitterly cold night and frosty morning, towards the
end of the winter of '97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my
shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his
eager, stooping face, and told me at a glance that something was
amiss.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a
word! Into your clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through the
silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint
winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see
the occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred
and indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in
silence into his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for
the air was most bitter, and neither of us had broken our fast.
It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station
and taken our places in the Kentish train that we were suffi-
ciently thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note
from his pocket, and read aloud:
"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,
3:30 A.M.
"MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:
I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in
what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something
quite in your line. Except for releasing the lady I will see
that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I beg
you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir
Eustace there.
"Yours faithfully,
"STANLEY HOPKINS.
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion
his summons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. ''I fancy
that every one of his cases has found its way into your collec-
tion, and I must admit, Watson, that you have some power of
selection, which atones for much which I deplore in your narra-
tives. Your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of
view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what
might have been an instructive and even classical series of
demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost finesse and
delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which may
excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with some
bitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you
know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to
the composition of a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of
detection into one volume. Our present research appears to be a
case of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agita-
tion, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has
been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. A
mere suicide would not have caused him to send for me. As to
the release of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked
in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in high life,
Watson, crackling paper, 'E. B.' monogram, coat-of-arms, pic-
turesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live up to his
reputation, and that we shall have an interesting morning. The
crime was committed before twelve last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time.
The local police had to be called in, they had to communicate
with Scotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to
send for me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we
are at Chiselhurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at
rest. "
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes
brought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old
lodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of some
great disaster. The avenue ran through a noble park, between
lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house,
pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. The central part
was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large
windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and
one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful
figure and alert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins con-
fronted us in the open doorway.
"I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too,
Dr. Watson. But, indeed, if I had my time over again, I should
not have troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself,
she has given so clear an account of the affair that there is not
much left for us to do. You remember that Lewisham gang of
burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a
doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were
seen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so
near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this
time."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker."
"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me."
"Exactly -- one of the richest men in Kent -- Lady Brackenstall
is in the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful
experience. She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think
you had best see her and hear her account of the facts. Then we
will examine the dining-room together."
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I
seen so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beauti-
ful a face. She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and
would no doubt have had the perfect complexion which goes
with such colouring, had not her recent experience left her drawn
and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for
over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her
maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with vine-
gar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but
her quick, observant gaze, as we entered the room, and the alert
expression of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits
nor her courage had been shaken by her terrible experience. She
was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a
black sequin-covered dinner-dress lay upon the couch beside her.
"I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins," she said,
wearily. "Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it
necessary, I will tell these gentlemen what occurTed. Have they
been in the dining-room yet?"
"I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first."
"I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to
me to think of him still lying there." She shuddered and buried
her face in her hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back
from her forearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation.
"You have other injuries, madam! What is this?" Two vivid
red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily
covered it.
"It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous business
to-night. If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all I
can.
"I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been
married about a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to
conceal that our marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that
all our neighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt
to deny it. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought
up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia,
and this English life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not
congenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact, which
is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a
confirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is
unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and
high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It is a
sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is
binding. I say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a
curse upon the land -- God will not let such wickedness endure."
For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes
blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the
strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down
on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate
sobbing. At last she continued:
"I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that
in this house all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This
central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen
behind and our bedroom above. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above
my room. There is no one else, and no sound could alarm those
who are in the farther wing. This must have been well known to
the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did.
"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had
already gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she
had remained in her room at the top of the house until I needed
her services. I sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a
book. Then I walked round to see that all was right before I went
upstairs. It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have
explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went into
the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room,
the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I approached the
window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt
the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I
flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a
broad-shouldered elderly man, who had just stepped into the
room. The window is a long French one, which really forms a
door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in my
hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two others,
who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow
was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and then
by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a
savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the
ground. I must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for
when I came to myself, I found that they had torn down the
bell-rope, and had secured me tightly to the oaken chair which
stands at the head of the dining-table. I was so firmly bound that
I could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth prevented
me from uttering a sound. It was at this instant that my unfortu-
nate husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some
suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he
found. He was dressed in nightshirt and trousers, with his fa-
vourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at the burglars,
but another -- it was an elderly man -- stooped, picked the poker
out of the grate and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He
fell with a groan and never moved again. I fainted once more,
but again it could only have been for a very few minutes during
which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found that
they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had
drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them had a
glass in his hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one
was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads.
They might have been a father with his two sons. They talked
together in whispers. Then they came over and made sure that I
was securely bound. Finally they withdrew, closing the window
after them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I got my
mouth free. When I did so, my sceams brought the maid to my
assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent
for the local police, who instantly communicated with London.
That is really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it
will not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story
again."
"Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins.
"I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's
patience and time," said Holmes. "Before I go into the dining-
room, I should like to hear your experience." He looked at the
maid.
"I saw the men before ever they came into the house," said
she. "As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the
moonlight down by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing
of it at the time. It was more than an hour after that I heard my
mistress scream and down I ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as
she says, and him on the floor, with his blood and brains over
the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied
there, and her very dress spotted with him, but she never wanted
courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide, and Lady Brack-
enstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've ques-
tioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming
to her own room, just with her old Theresa, to get the rest that
she badly needs."
With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm
round her mistress and led her from the room.
"She has been with her all her life," said Hopkins. "Nursed
her as a baby, and came with her to England when they first left
Australia, eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and
the kind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr.
Holmes, if you please!"
The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face,
and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had
departed. There still remained an arrest to be effected, but what
were these commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands
with them? An abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he
has been called in for a case of measles would experience
something of the annoyance which I read in my friend's eyes.
Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was
sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning
interest.
It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling,
oaken panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient
weapons around the walls. At the further end from the door was
the high French window of which we had heard. Three smaller
windows on the right-hand side filled the apartment with cold
winter sunshine. On the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a
massive, overhanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the fireplace was
a heavy oaken chair with arms and crossbars at the bottom. In
and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord
which was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. In
releasing the lady, the cord had been slipped off her, but the
knots with which it had been secured still remained. These
details only struck our attention afterwards, for our thoughts
were entirely absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the
tigerskin hearthrug in front of the fire.
It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of
age. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white
teeth grinning through his short, black beard. His two clenched
hands were raised above his head, and a heavy, blackthorn stick
lay across them. His dark, handsome, aquiline features were
convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his
dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently
been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he wore a
foppish, embroidered nightshirt, and his bare feet projected from
his trousers. His head was horribly injured, and the whole room
bore witness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck
him down. Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by
the concussion. Holmes examined both it and the indescribable
wreck which it had wrought.
"He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall," he remarked.
"Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of the fellow, and
he is a rough customer."
"You should have no difficulty in getting him."
"Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and
there was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that
we know that the gang are here, I don't see how they can escape.
We have the news at every seaport already, and a reward will be
offered before evening. What beats me is how they could have
done so mad a thing, knowing that the lady could describe them
and that we could not fail to recognize the description."
"Exactly. One would have expected that they would silence
Lady Brackenstall as well."
"They may not have realized," I suggested, "that she had
recovered from her faint."
"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless, they
would not take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I
seem to have heard some queer stories about him."
" He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a
perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half
drunk, for he seldom really went the whole way. The devil
seemed to be in him at such times, and he was capable of
anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth and his
title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. There was a
scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it
on fire -- her ladyship's dog, to make the matter worse -- and that
was only hushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at
that maid, Theresa Wright -- there was trouble about that. On the
whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house without
him. What are you looking at now?"
Holmes was down on his knees, examining with great atten-
tion the knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been
secured. Then he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end
where it had snapped off when the burglar had dragged it down.
"When this was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen must
have rung loudly," he remarked.
"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of
the house."
"How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared
he pull at a bellrope in that reckless fashion?"
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question
which I have asked myself again and again. There can be no
doubt that this fellow must have known the house and its habits.
He must have perfectly understood that the servants would all be
in bed at that comparatively early hour, and that no one could
possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. Therefore, he must have
been in close league with one of the servants. Surely that is
evident. But there are eight servants, and all of good character."
"Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one would sus-
pect the one at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet
that would involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this
woman seems devoted. Well, well, the point is a minor one, and
when you have Randall you will probably find no difficulty in
securing his accomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to be
corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every detail which
we see before us." He walked to the French window and threw
it open. "There are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard,
and one would not expect them. I see that these candles in the
mantelpiece have been lighted."
"Yes, it was by their light, and that of the lady's bedroom
candle, that the burglars saw their way about."
"And what did they take?"
"Well, they did not take much -- only half a dozen articles of
plate off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were
themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did
not ransack the house, as they would otherwise have done."
"No doubt that is true, and yet they drank some wine, I
understand."
"To steady their nerves."
"Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been
untouched, I suppose?"
"Yes, and the bottle stands as they left it."
"Let us look at it. Halloa, halloa! What is this?"
The three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged
with wine, and one of them containing some dregs of beeswing.
The bottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a
long, deeply stained cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the
bottle showed that it was no common vintage which the murder-
ers had enjoyed.
A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his
listless expression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in
his keen, deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it
minutely.
"How did they draw it?" he asked.
Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table
linen and a large corkscrew.
"Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?"
"No, you remember that she was senseless at the moment
when the bottle was opened."
"Quite so. As a matter of fact, that screw was not used. This
bottle was opened by a pocket screw, probably contained in a
knife, and not more than an inch and a half long. If you will
examine the top of the cork, you will observe that the screw was
driven in three times before the cork was extracted. It has never
been transfixed. This long screw would have transfixed it and
drawn it up with a single pull. When you catch this fellow, you
will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in his
possession."
"Excellent!" said Hopkins.
"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall
actually saw the three men drinking, did she not?"
"Yes; she was clear about that."
"Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet,
you must admlt, that the three glasses are very remarkable,
Hopkins. What? You see nothing remarkable? Well, well, let it
pass. Perhaps, when a man has special knowledge and special
powers like my own, it rather encourages him to seek a complex
explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Of course, it must be
a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good-morning, Hopkins.
I don't see that I can be of any use to you, and you appear to
have your case very clear. You will let me know when Randall is
arrested, and any further developments which may occur. I trust
that I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful
conclusion. Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ our-
selves more profitably at home."
During our return journey, I could see by Holmes's face that
he was much puzzled by something which he had observed.
Every now and then, by an effort, he would throw off the
impression, and talk as if the matter were clear, but then his
doubts would settle down upon him again, and his knitted brows
and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had gone back
once more to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange, in
which this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, by a
sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out of a suburban
station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after
him.
"Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched the
rear carriages of our train disappearing round a curve, "I am
sorry to make you the victim of what may seem a mere whim,
but on my life, Watson, I simply can't leave that case in this
condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out against it. It's
wrong -- it's all wrong -- I'll swear that it's wrong. And yet the
lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was suffi-
cient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I to put up against
that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken things
for granted, if I had examined everything with care which I
should have shown had we approached the case de novo and had
no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, should I not then have
found something more definite to go upon? Of course I should.
Sit down on this bench, Watson, until a train for Chiselhurst
arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring
you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that
anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must
necessarily be true. The lady's charming personality must not be
permitted to warp our judgment.
"Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at
in cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a
considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of
them and of their appearance was in the papers, and would
naturally occur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which
imaginary robbers should play a part. As a matter of fact,
burglars who have done a good stroke of business are as a rule
only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without
embarking on another perilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual
for burglars to operate at so early an hour, it is unusual for
burglars to strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one
would imagine that was the sure way to make her scream, it is
unusual for them to commit murder when their numbers are
sufficient to overpower one man, it is unusual for them to be
content with a limited plunder when there was much more within
their reach, and finally, I should say, that it was very unusual for
such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals
strike you, Watson?"
"Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet
each of them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing
of all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the
chair. "
"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson, for it is evident
that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way that
she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But at any
rate I have shown, have I not, that there is a certain element of
improbability about the lady's story? And now, on the top of
this, comes the incident of the wineglasses."
"What about the wineglasses?"
"Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"I see them clearly."
"We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike
you as likely?"
"Why not? There was wine in each glass."
"Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass. You must
have noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?"
"The last glass filled would be most likely to contain beeswing."
"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable
that the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged
with it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One
is that after the second glass was filled the bottle was violently
agitated, and so the third glass received the beeswing. That does
not appear probable. No, no, I am sure that I am right."
"What, then, do you suppose?"
"That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both
were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression
that three people had been here. In that way all the beeswing
would be in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced
that this is so. But if I have hit upon the true explanation of this
one small phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from the
commonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only
mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied
to us, that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they
have some very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and
that we must construct our case for ourselves without any help
from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and
here, Watson, is the Sydenham train."
The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised at
our return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins
had gone off to report to headquarters, took possession of the
dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted him-
self for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investiga-
tions which form the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of
deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an interested
student who observes the demonstration of his professor, I fol-
lowed every step of that remarkable research. The window, the
curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope -- each in turn was mi-
nutely examined and duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate
baronet had been removed, and all else remained as we had seen
it in the morning. Finally, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed
up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head hung the
few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. For
a long time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get
nearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the
wall. This brought his hand within a few inches of the broken
end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket itself
which seemed to engage his attention. Finally, he sprang down
with an ejaculation of satisfaction.
"It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got our case --
one of the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how
slow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the
blunder of my lifetime! Now, I think that, with a few missing
links, my chain is almost complete."
"You have got your men?"
"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person.
Strong as a lion -- witness the blow that bent that poker! Six foot
three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers,
finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story
is of his concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the
handiwork of a very remarkable individual. And yet, in that
bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have left us a
doubt. "
"Where was the clue?"
"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where
would you expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is
attached to the wire. Why should it break three inches from the
top, as this one has done?"
"Because it is frayed there?"
"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was
cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not
frayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were on
the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any
mark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred.
The man needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of
giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang
up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on
the bracket -- you will see the impression in the dust -- and so got
his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at
least three inches -- from which I infer that he is at least three
inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of
the oaken chair! What is it?"
"Blood."
"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out
of court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was
done, how comes that mark? No, no, she was placed in the chair
after the death of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress
shows a corresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our
Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in
defeat and ends in victory. I should like now to have a few
words with the nurse, Theresa. We must be wary for a while, if
we are to get the information which we want."
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse --
taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's
pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed
her into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt to
conceal her hatred for her late employer.
"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard
him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not
dare to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that
he threw it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but
left my bonny bird alone. He was forever ill-treating her, and she
too proud to complain. She will not even tell me all that he has
done to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that
you saw this morning, but I know very well that they come from
a stab with a hatpin. The sly devil -- God forgive me that I should
speak of him so, now that he is dead! But a devil he was, if ever
one walked the earth. He was all honey when first we met
him -- only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were
eighteen years. She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was
her first voyage -- she had never been from home before. He won
her with his title and his money and his false London ways. If
she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did.
What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after
we arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were
married in January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-
room again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must
not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh
and blood will stand."
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked
brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began
once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.
"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-
examine me again?"
"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I will not
cause you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my
whole desire is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced
that you are a much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend
and trust me, you may find that I will justify your trust."
"What do you want me to do?"
"To tell me the truth."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"No, no, Lady Brackenstall -- it is no use. You may have
heard of any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all
on the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication."
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces
and frightened eyes.
"You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do you mean
to say that my mistress has told a lie?"
Holmes rose from his chair.
"Have you nothing to tell me?"
"I have told you everything."
"Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better
to be frank?"
For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then
some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.
"I have told you all I know."
Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry,"
he said, and without another word we left the room and the
house. There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led
the way. It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the
convenience of a solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it, and then
passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled a short note for
Stanley Hopkins, and left it with the lodge-keeper.
"It may be a hit, or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do
something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,"
said he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I
think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of
the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall
Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of steamers
which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw
the larger cover first."
Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention,
and he was not long in acquiring all the information he needed.
In June of '95, only one of their line had reached a home port. It
was the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best boat. A refer-
ence to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser, of Adelaide,
with her maid had made the voyage in her. The boat was now
somewhere south of the Suez Canal on her way to Australia. Her
officers were the same as in '95, with one exception. The first
officer, Mr. Jack Crocker, had been made a captain and was to
take charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two
days' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he
was likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to
wait for him.
No, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad
to know more about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the
fleet to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty
but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship -- hot-
headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was
the pith of the information with which Holmes left the office of
the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scot-
land Yard, but, instead of entering, he sat in his cab with his
brows drawn down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove
round to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message,
and then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more.
"No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we reentered our
room. "Once that warrant was made out, nothing on earth would
save him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done
more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had
done by his crime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather
play tricks with the law of England than with my own con-
science. Let us know a little more before we act."
Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hop-
kins. Things were not going very well with him.
"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do
sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now,
how on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the
bottom of that pond?"
"I didn't know it."
"But you told me to examine it."
"You got it, then?"
"Yes, I got it."
"I am very glad if I have helped you."
"But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far
more difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver
and then throw it into the nearest pond?"
"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely
going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons
who did not want it -- who merely took it for a blind, as it
were -- then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it."
"But why should such an idea cross your mind?"
"Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through
the French window, there was the pond with one tempting little
hole in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a
better hiding-place?"
"Ah, a hiding-place -- that is better!" cried Stanley Hopkins.
"Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon
the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they
sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was
clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes -- that is better than your idea of a
blind. "
"Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt
that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they
have ended in discovering the silver."
''Yes, sir -- yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad
setback."
"A setback?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New
York this morning."
"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your
theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night."
"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes -- absolutely fatal. Still, there are
other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new
gang of which the police have never heard."
"Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to
the bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give
me?"
"I have given you one."
"Which?"
"Well, I suggested a blind."
"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?"
"Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea
to your mind. You might possibly find that there was something
in it. You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us
know how you get on."
Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded
to the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet
to the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his
watch.
"I expect developments, Watson."
"When?' '
"Now -- within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted
rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?"
"I trust your judgment."
"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way:
what I know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the
right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all,
or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put
him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information
until my own mind is clear upon the matter."
"But when will that be?"
"The time has come. You will now be present at the last
scene of a remarkable little drama."
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened
to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through
it. He was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-
eyed, with a skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a
springy step, which showed that the huge frame was as active as
it was strong. He closed the door behind him, and then he stood
with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some
overmastering emotion.
"Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?"
Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the
other of us with questioning eyes.
"I got yow telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard
that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away
from you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with
me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play
with me like a cat with a mouse."
"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that, Captain
Crocker, and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should
not sit here smoking with you if I thought that you were a
common criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with me
and we may do some good. Play tricks with me, and I'll crush
you."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey
Grange last night -- a true account, mind you, with nothing added
and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one
inch off the straight, I'll blow this police whistle from my
window and the affair goes out of my hands forever."
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his
great sunburned hand.
"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of your
word, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one
thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing
and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of
the job. Damn the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat, he
would owe them all to me! But it's the lady, Mary -- Mary
Fraser -- for never will I call her by that accursed name. When I
think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to
bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into
water. And yet -- and yet -- what less could I do? I'll tell you my
story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you, as man to man, what
less could I do?
"I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I
expect that you know that I met her when she was a passenger
and I was first officer of the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first
day I met her, she was the only woman to me. Every day of that
voyage I loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled
down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of
that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never
engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated
a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side,
and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we
parted she was a free woman, but I could never again be a free
man.
"Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage.
Well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and
money -- who could carry them better than she? She was born for
all that is beautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage.
I was not such a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good
luck had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself
away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser.
"Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was
promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to
wait for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One
day out in a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid.
She told me all about her, about him, about everything. I tell
you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound,
that he should dare to raise his hand to her, whose boots he was
not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary
herself -- and met her again. Then she would meet me no more.
But the other day I had a notice that I was to start on my voyage
within a week, and I determined that I would see her once before
I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and
hated this villain almost as much as I did. From her I learned the
ways of the house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own little
room downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at
the window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I
know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the
frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the big front
window, and I found it open before me, so as to let me into the
dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that made
my blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the
woman I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just
inside the window, in all innocence, as God is my judge, when
he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest
name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across
the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the
poker, and it was a fair fight between us. See here, on my arm,
where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went
through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I
was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that,
it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of
this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well,
then, what would either of you gentlemen have done, if you had
been in my position?"
"She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old
Theresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine
on the sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between
Mary's lips, for she was half dead with shock. Then I took a
drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as
much as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done
the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress,
while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed
her in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it
look natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar
could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates
and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of the robbery, and there
I left them, with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of
an hour's start. I dropped the silver into the pond, and made off
for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I had done a real
good night's work. And that's the truth and the whole truth, Mr.
Holmes, if it costs me my neck."
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the
room, and shook our visitor by the hand.
"That's what I think," said he. "I know that every word is
true, for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No
one but an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope
from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the
knots with which the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once
had this lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was
on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life,
since she was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that she
loved him. You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands
upon you when once I had started upon the right trail."
"I thought the police never could have seen through our
dodge."
"And the police haven't, nor will they, to the best of my
belief. Now, look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious
matter, though I am willing to admit that you acted under the
most extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected.
I am not sure that in defence of your own life your action will
not be pronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British jury
to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that, if
you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours, I will
promise you that no one will hinder you."
"And then it will all come out?"
"Certainly it will come out."
The sailor flushed with anger.
"What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough
of law to understand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do
you think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk
away? No, sir, let them do their worst upon me, but for heaven's
sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out
of the courts. "
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.
"I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it
is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given
Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it I can
do no more. See here, Captain Crocker, we'll do this in due
form of law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British
jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to
represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you
have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not
guilty?"
"Not guilty, my lord," said I.
"Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted, Captain Crocker.
So long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe
from me. Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future
and yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced
this night!"