The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
By Arthur Conan Doyle
Adventure XI
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET
“Holmes,” said I as I stood one morning
in our bow-window looking down the street,
“here is a madman coming along.
It seems rather sad that his relatives should
allow him to come out alone.”
My friend rose lazily from his armchair and
stood with his hands in the pockets of his
dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder.
It was a bright, crisp February morning, and
the snow of the day before still lay deep
upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the
wintry sun.
Down the centre of Baker Street it had been
ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the
traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up
edges of the footpaths it still lay as white
as when it fell.
The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped,
but was still dangerously slippery, so that
there were fewer passengers than usual.
Indeed, from the direction of the Metropolitan
Station no one was coming save the single
gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn
my attention.
He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly,
and imposing, with a massive, strongly marked
face and a commanding figure.
He was dressed in a sombre yet rich style,
in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown
gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers.
Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to
the dignity of his dress and features, for
he was running hard, with occasional little
springs, such as a weary man gives who is
little accustomed to set any tax upon his
legs.
As he ran he jerked his hands up and down,
waggled his head, and writhed his face into
the most extraordinary contortions.
“What on earth can be the matter with him?”
I asked.
“He is looking up at the numbers of the
houses.”
“I believe that he is coming here,” said
Holmes, rubbing his hands.
“Here?”
“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult
me professionally.
I think that I recognise the symptoms.
Ha! did I not tell you?”
As he spoke, the man, puffing and blowing,
rushed at our door and pulled at our bell
until the whole house resounded with the clanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still
puffing, still gesticulating, but with so
fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes
that our smiles were turned in an instant
to horror and pity.
For a while he could not get his words out,
but swayed his body and plucked at his hair
like one who has been driven to the extreme
limits of his reason.
Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat
his head against the wall with such force
that we both rushed upon him and tore him
away to the centre of the room.
Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair
and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and
chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones
which he knew so well how to employ.
“You have come to me to tell your story,
have you not?” said he.
“You are fatigued with your haste.
Pray wait until you have recovered yourself,
and then I shall be most happy to look into
any little problem which you may submit to
me.”
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving
chest, fighting against his emotion.
Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow,
set his lips tight, and turned his face towards
us.
“No doubt you think me mad?” said he.
“I see that you have had some great trouble,”
responded Holmes.
“God knows I have!—a trouble which is
enough to unseat my reason, so sudden and
so terrible is it.
Public disgrace I might have faced, although
I am a man whose character has never yet borne
a stain.
Private affliction also is the lot of every
man; but the two coming together, and in so
frightful a form, have been enough to shake
my very soul.
Besides, it is not I alone.
The very noblest in the land may suffer unless
some way be found out of this horrible affair.”
“Pray compose yourself, sir,” said Holmes,
“and let me have a clear account of who
you are and what it is that has befallen you.”
“My name,” answered our visitor, “is
probably familiar to your ears.
I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm
of Holder & Stevenson, of Threadneedle Street.”
The name was indeed well known to us as belonging
to the senior partner in the second largest
private banking concern in the City of London.
What could have happened, then, to bring one
of the foremost citizens of London to this
most pitiable pass?
We waited, all curiosity, until with another
effort he braced himself to tell his story.
“I feel that time is of value,” said he;
“that is why I hastened here when the police
inspector suggested that I should secure your
co-operation.
I came to Baker Street by the Underground
and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs
go slowly through this snow.
That is why I was so out of breath, for I
am a man who takes very little exercise.
I feel better now, and I will put the facts
before you as shortly and yet as clearly as
I can.
“It is, of course, well known to you that
in a successful banking business as much depends
upon our being able to find remunerative investments
for our funds as upon our increasing our connection
and the number of our depositors.
One of our most lucrative means of laying
out money is in the shape of loans, where
the security is unimpeachable.
We have done a good deal in this direction
during the last few years, and there are many
noble families to whom we have advanced large
sums upon the security of their pictures,
libraries, or plate.
“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office
at the bank when a card was brought in to
me by one of the clerks.
I started when I saw the name, for it was
that of none other than—well, perhaps even
to you I had better say no more than that
it was a name which is a household word all
over the earth—one of the highest, noblest,
most exalted names in England.
I was overwhelmed by the honour and attempted,
when he entered, to say so, but he plunged
at once into business with the air of a man
who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable
task.
“‘Mr. Holder,’ said he, ‘I have been
informed that you are in the habit of advancing
money.’
“‘The firm does so when the security is
good.’
I answered.
“‘It is absolutely essential to me,’
said he, ‘that I should have £ 50,000 at
once.
I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum
ten times over from my friends, but I much
prefer to make it a matter of business and
to carry out that business myself.
In my position you can readily understand
that it is unwise to place one’s self under
obligations.’
“‘For how long, may I ask, do you want
this sum?’
I asked.
“‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to
me, and I shall then most certainly repay
what you advance, with whatever interest you
think it right to charge.
But it is very essential to me that the money
should be paid at once.’
“‘I should be happy to advance it without
further parley from my own private purse,’
said I, ‘were it not that the strain would
be rather more than it could bear.
If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the
name of the firm, then in justice to my partner
I must insist that, even in your case, every
businesslike precaution should be taken.’
“‘I should much prefer to have it so,’
said he, raising up a square, black morocco
case which he had laid beside his chair.
‘You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?’
“‘One of the most precious public possessions
of the empire,’ said I.
“‘Precisely.’
He opened the case, and there, imbedded in
soft, flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent
piece of jewellery which he had named.
‘There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,’
said he, ‘and the price of the gold chasing
is incalculable.
The lowest estimate would put the worth of
the coronet at double the sum which I have
asked.
I am prepared to leave it with you as my security.’
“I took the precious case into my hands
and looked in some perplexity from it to my
illustrious client.
“‘You doubt its value?’ he asked.
“‘Not at all.
I only doubt—’
“‘The propriety of my leaving it.
You may set your mind at rest about that.
I should not dream of doing so were it not
absolutely certain that I should be able in
four days to reclaim it.
It is a pure matter of form.
Is the security sufficient?’
“‘Ample.’
“‘You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am
giving you a strong proof of the confidence
which I have in you, founded upon all that
I have heard of you.
I rely upon you not only to be discreet and
to refrain from all gossip upon the matter
but, above all, to preserve this coronet with
every possible precaution because I need not
say that a great public scandal would be caused
if any harm were to befall it.
Any injury to it would be almost as serious
as its complete loss, for there are no beryls
in the world to match these, and it would
be impossible to replace them.
I leave it with you, however, with every confidence,
and I shall call for it in person on Monday
morning.’
“Seeing that my client was anxious to leave,
I said no more but, calling for my cashier,
I ordered him to pay over fifty £ 1000 notes.
When I was alone once more, however, with
the precious case lying upon the table in
front of me, I could not but think with some
misgivings of the immense responsibility which
it entailed upon me.
There could be no doubt that, as it was a
national possession, a horrible scandal would
ensue if any misfortune should occur to it.
I already regretted having ever consented
to take charge of it.
However, it was too late to alter the matter
now, so I locked it up in my private safe
and turned once more to my work.
“When evening came I felt that it would
be an imprudence to leave so precious a thing
in the office behind me.
Bankers’ safes had been forced before now,
and why should not mine be?
If so, how terrible would be the position
in which I should find myself!
I determined, therefore, that for the next
few days I would always carry the case backward
and forward with me, so that it might never
be really out of my reach.
With this intention, I called a cab and drove
out to my house at Streatham, carrying the
jewel with me.
I did not breathe freely until I had taken
it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of
my dressing-room.
“And now a word as to my household, Mr.
Holmes, for I wish you to thoroughly understand
the situation.
My groom and my page sleep out of the house,
and may be set aside altogether.
I have three maid-servants who have been with
me a number of years and whose absolute reliability
is quite above suspicion.
Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid,
has only been in my service a few months.
She came with an excellent character, however,
and has always given me satisfaction.
She is a very pretty girl and has attracted
admirers who have occasionally hung about
the place.
That is the only drawback which we have found
to her, but we believe her to be a thoroughly
good girl in every way.
“So much for the servants.
My family itself is so small that it will
not take me long to describe it.
I am a widower and have an only son, Arthur.
He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes—a
grievous disappointment.
I have no doubt that I am myself to blame.
People tell me that I have spoiled him.
Very likely I have.
When my dear wife died I felt that he was
all I had to love.
I could not bear to see the smile fade even
for a moment from his face.
I have never denied him a wish.
Perhaps it would have been better for both
of us had I been sterner, but I meant it for
the best.
“It was naturally my intention that he should
succeed me in my business, but he was not
of a business turn.
He was wild, wayward, and, to speak the truth,
I could not trust him in the handling of large
sums of money.
When he was young he became a member of an
aristocratic club, and there, having charming
manners, he was soon the intimate of a number
of men with long purses and expensive habits.
He learned to play heavily at cards and to
squander money on the turf, until he had again
and again to come to me and implore me to
give him an advance upon his allowance, that
he might settle his debts of honour.
He tried more than once to break away from
the dangerous company which he was keeping,
but each time the influence of his friend,
Sir George Burnwell, was enough to draw him
back again.
“And, indeed, I could not wonder that such
a man as Sir George Burnwell should gain an
influence over him, for he has frequently
brought him to my house, and I have found
myself that I could hardly resist the fascination
of his manner.
He is older than Arthur, a man of the world
to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere,
seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a
man of great personal beauty.
Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far
away from the glamour of his presence, I am
convinced from his cynical speech and the
look which I have caught in his eyes that
he is one who should be deeply distrusted.
So I think, and so, too, thinks my little
Mary, who has a woman’s quick insight into
character.
“And now there is only she to be described.
She is my niece; but when my brother died
five years ago and left her alone in the world
I adopted her, and have looked upon her ever
since as my daughter.
She is a sunbeam in my house—sweet, loving,
beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper,
yet as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman
could be.
She is my right hand.
I do not know what I could do without her.
In only one matter has she ever gone against
my wishes.
Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for
he loves her devotedly, but each time she
has refused him.
I think that if anyone could have drawn him
into the right path it would have been she,
and that his marriage might have changed his
whole life; but now, alas! it is too late—forever
too late!
“Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who
live under my roof, and I shall continue with
my miserable story.
“When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room
that night after dinner, I told Arthur and
Mary my experience, and of the precious treasure
which we had under our roof, suppressing only
the name of my client.
Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee,
had, I am sure, left the room; but I cannot
swear that the door was closed.
Mary and Arthur were much interested and wished
to see the famous coronet, but I thought it
better not to disturb it.
“‘Where have you put it?’ asked Arthur.
“‘In my own bureau.’
“‘Well, I hope to goodness the house won’t
be burgled during the night.’
said he.
“‘It is locked up,’ I answered.
“‘Oh, any old key will fit that bureau.
When I was a youngster I have opened it myself
with the key of the box-room cupboard.’
“He often had a wild way of talking, so
that I thought little of what he said.
He followed me to my room, however, that night
with a very grave face.
“‘Look here, dad,’ said he with his
eyes cast down, ‘can you let me have £ 200?’
“‘No, I cannot!’
I answered sharply.
‘I have been far too generous with you in
money matters.’
“‘You have been very kind,’ said he,
‘but I must have this money, or else I can
never show my face inside the club again.’
“‘And a very good thing, too!’
I cried.
“‘Yes, but you would not have me leave
it a dishonoured man,’ said he.
‘I could not bear the disgrace.
I must raise the money in some way, and if
you will not let me have it, then I must try
other means.’
“I was very angry, for this was the third
demand during the month.
‘You shall not have a farthing from me,’
I cried, on which he bowed and left the room
without another word.
“When he was gone I unlocked my bureau,
made sure that my treasure was safe, and locked
it again.
Then I started to go round the house to see
that all was secure—a duty which I usually
leave to Mary but which I thought it well
to perform myself that night.
As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself
at the side window of the hall, which she
closed and fastened as I approached.
“‘Tell me, dad,’ said she, looking,
I thought, a little disturbed, ‘did you
give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?’
“‘Certainly not.’
“‘She came in just now by the back door.
I have no doubt that she has only been to
the side gate to see someone, but I think
that it is hardly safe and should be stopped.’
“‘You must speak to her in the morning,
or I will if you prefer it.
Are you sure that everything is fastened?’
“‘Quite sure, dad.’
“‘Then, good-night.’
I kissed her and went up to my bedroom again,
where I was soon asleep.
“I am endeavouring to tell you everything,
Mr. Holmes, which may have any bearing upon
the case, but I beg that you will question
me upon any point which I do not make clear.”
“On the contrary, your statement is singularly
lucid.”
“I come to a part of my story now in which
I should wish to be particularly so.
I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety
in my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even
less so than usual.
About two in the morning, then, I was awakened
by some sound in the house.
It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it
had left an impression behind it as though
a window had gently closed somewhere.
I lay listening with all my ears.
Suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct
sound of footsteps moving softly in the next
room.
I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with
fear, and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room
door.
“‘Arthur!’
I screamed, ‘you villain! you thief!
How dare you touch that coronet?’
“The gas was half up, as I had left it,
and my unhappy boy, dressed only in his shirt
and trousers, was standing beside the light,
holding the coronet in his hands.
He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending
it with all his strength.
At my cry he dropped it from his grasp and
turned as pale as death.
I snatched it up and examined it.
One of the gold corners, with three of the
beryls in it, was missing.
“‘You blackguard!’
I shouted, beside myself with rage.
‘You have destroyed it!
You have dishonoured me forever!
Where are the jewels which you have stolen?’
“‘Stolen!’ he cried.
“‘Yes, thief!’
I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.
“‘There are none missing.
There cannot be any missing,’ said he.
“‘There are three missing.
And you know where they are.
Must I call you a liar as well as a thief?
Did I not see you trying to tear off another
piece?’
“‘You have called me names enough,’
said he, ‘I will not stand it any longer.
I shall not say another word about this business,
since you have chosen to insult me.
I will leave your house in the morning and
make my own way in the world.’
“‘You shall leave it in the hands of the
police!’
I cried half-mad with grief and rage.
‘I shall have this matter probed to the
bottom.’
“‘You shall learn nothing from me,’
said he with a passion such as I should not
have thought was in his nature.
‘If you choose to call the police, let the
police find what they can.’
“By this time the whole house was astir,
for I had raised my voice in my anger.
Mary was the first to rush into my room, and,
at the sight of the coronet and of Arthur’s
face, she read the whole story and, with a
scream, fell down senseless on the ground.
I sent the housemaid for the police and put
the investigation into their hands at once.
When the inspector and a constable entered
the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly
with his arms folded, asked me whether it
was my intention to charge him with theft.
I answered that it had ceased to be a private
matter, but had become a public one, since
the ruined coronet was national property.
I was determined that the law should have
its way in everything.
“‘At least,’ said he, ‘you will not
have me arrested at once.
It would be to your advantage as well as mine
if I might leave the house for five minutes.’
“‘That you may get away, or perhaps that
you may conceal what you have stolen,’ said
I.
And then, realising the dreadful position
in which I was placed, I implored him to remember
that not only my honour but that of one who
was far greater than I was at stake; and that
he threatened to raise a scandal which would
convulse the nation.
He might avert it all if he would but tell
me what he had done with the three missing
stones.
“‘You may as well face the matter,’
said I; ‘you have been caught in the act,
and no confession could make your guilt more
heinous.
If you but make such reparation as is in your
power, by telling us where the beryls are,
all shall be forgiven and forgotten.’
“‘Keep your forgiveness for those who
ask for it,’ he answered, turning away from
me with a sneer.
I saw that he was too hardened for any words
of mine to influence him.
There was but one way for it.
I called in the inspector and gave him into
custody.
A search was made at once not only of his
person but of his room and of every portion
of the house where he could possibly have
concealed the gems; but no trace of them could
be found, nor would the wretched boy open
his mouth for all our persuasions and our
threats.
This morning he was removed to a cell, and
I, after going through all the police formalities,
have hurried round to you to implore you to
use your skill in unravelling the matter.
The police have openly confessed that they
can at present make nothing of it.
You may go to any expense which you think
necessary.
I have already offered a reward of £ 1000.
My God, what shall I do!
I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son
in one night.
Oh, what shall I do!”
He put a hand on either side of his head and
rocked himself to and fro, droning to himself
like a child whose grief has got beyond words.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes,
with his brows knitted and his eyes fixed
upon the fire.
“Do you receive much company?” he asked.
“None save my partner with his family and
an occasional friend of Arthur’s.
Sir George Burnwell has been several times
lately.
No one else, I think.”
“Do you go out much in society?”
“Arthur does.
Mary and I stay at home.
We neither of us care for it.”
“That is unusual in a young girl.”
“She is of a quiet nature.
Besides, she is not so very young.
She is four-and-twenty.”
“This matter, from what you say, seems to
have been a shock to her also.”
“Terrible!
She is even more affected than I.”
“You have neither of you any doubt as to
your son’s guilt?”
“How can we have when I saw him with my
own eyes with the coronet in his hands.”
“I hardly consider that a conclusive proof.
Was the remainder of the coronet at all injured?”
“Yes, it was twisted.”
“Do you not think, then, that he might have
been trying to straighten it?”
“God bless you!
You are doing what you can for him and for
me.
But it is too heavy a task.
What was he doing there at all?
If his purpose were innocent, why did he not
say so?”
“Precisely.
And if it were guilty, why did he not invent
a lie?
His silence appears to me to cut both ways.
There are several singular points about the
case.
What did the police think of the noise which
awoke you from your sleep?”
“They considered that it might be caused
by Arthur’s closing his bedroom door.”
“A likely story!
As if a man bent on felony would slam his
door so as to wake a household.
What did they say, then, of the disappearance
of these gems?”
“They are still sounding the planking and
probing the furniture in the hope of finding
them.”
“Have they thought of looking outside the
house?”
“Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy.
The whole garden has already been minutely
examined.”
“Now, my dear sir,” said Holmes, “is
it not obvious to you now that this matter
really strikes very much deeper than either
you or the police were at first inclined to
think?
It appeared to you to be a simple case; to
me it seems exceedingly complex.
Consider what is involved by your theory.
You suppose that your son came down from his
bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room,
opened your bureau, took out your coronet,
broke off by main force a small portion of
it, went off to some other place, concealed
three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such
skill that nobody can find them, and then
returned with the other thirty-six into the
room in which he exposed himself to the greatest
danger of being discovered.
I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?”
“But what other is there?”
cried the banker with a gesture of despair.
“If his motives were innocent, why does
he not explain them?”
“It is our task to find that out,” replied
Holmes; “so now, if you please, Mr. Holder,
we will set off for Streatham together, and
devote an hour to glancing a little more closely
into details.”
My friend insisted upon my accompanying them
in their expedition, which I was eager enough
to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were
deeply stirred by the story to which we had
listened.
I confess that the guilt of the banker’s
son appeared to me to be as obvious as it
did to his unhappy father, but still I had
such faith in Holmes’ judgment that I felt
that there must be some grounds for hope as
long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted
explanation.
He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to
the southern suburb, but sat with his chin
upon his breast and his hat drawn over his
eyes, sunk in the deepest thought.
Our client appeared to have taken fresh heart
at the little glimpse of hope which had been
presented to him, and he even broke into a
desultory chat with me over his business affairs.
A short railway journey and a shorter walk
brought us to Fairbank, the modest residence
of the great financier.
Fairbank was a good-sized square house of
white stone, standing back a little from the
road.
A double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad
lawn, stretched down in front to two large
iron gates which closed the entrance.
On the right side was a small wooden thicket,
which led into a narrow path between two neat
hedges stretching from the road to the kitchen
door, and forming the tradesmen’s entrance.
On the left ran a lane which led to the stables,
and was not itself within the grounds at all,
being a public, though little used, thoroughfare.
Holmes left us standing at the door and walked
slowly all round the house, across the front,
down the tradesmen’s path, and so round
by the garden behind into the stable lane.
So long was he that Mr. Holder and I went
into the dining-room and waited by the fire
until he should return.
We were sitting there in silence when the
door opened and a young lady came in.
She was rather above the middle height, slim,
with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the
darker against the absolute pallor of her
skin.
I do not think that I have ever seen such
deadly paleness in a woman’s face.
Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes
were flushed with crying.
As she swept silently into the room she impressed
me with a greater sense of grief than the
banker had done in the morning, and it was
the more striking in her as she was evidently
a woman of strong character, with immense
capacity for self-restraint.
Disregarding my presence, she went straight
to her uncle and passed her hand over his
head with a sweet womanly caress.
“You have given orders that Arthur should
be liberated, have you not, dad?” she asked.
“No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed
to the bottom.”
“But I am so sure that he is innocent.
You know what woman’s instincts are.
I know that he has done no harm and that you
will be sorry for having acted so harshly.”
“Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?”
“Who knows?
Perhaps because he was so angry that you should
suspect him.”
“How could I help suspecting him, when I
actually saw him with the coronet in his hand?”
“Oh, but he had only picked it up to look
at it.
Oh, do, do take my word for it that he is
innocent.
Let the matter drop and say no more.
It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur
in prison!”
“I shall never let it drop until the gems
are found—never, Mary!
Your affection for Arthur blinds you as to
the awful consequences to me.
Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought
a gentleman down from London to inquire more
deeply into it.”
“This gentleman?” she asked, facing round
to me.
“No, his friend.
He wished us to leave him alone.
He is round in the stable lane now.”
“The stable lane?”
She raised her dark eyebrows.
“What can he hope to find there?
Ah! this, I suppose, is he.
I trust, sir, that you will succeed in proving,
what I feel sure is the truth, that my cousin
Arthur is innocent of this crime.”
“I fully share your opinion, and I trust,
with you, that we may prove it,” returned
Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the
snow from his shoes.
“I believe I have the honour of addressing
Miss Mary Holder.
Might I ask you a question or two?”
“Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this
horrible affair up.”
“You heard nothing yourself last night?”
“Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak
loudly.
I heard that, and I came down.”
“You shut up the windows and doors the night
before.
Did you fasten all the windows?”
“Yes.”
“Were they all fastened this morning?”
“Yes.”
“You have a maid who has a sweetheart?
I think that you remarked to your uncle last
night that she had been out to see him?”
“Yes, and she was the girl who waited in
the drawing-room, and who may have heard uncle’s
remarks about the coronet.”
“I see.
You infer that she may have gone out to tell
her sweetheart, and that the two may have
planned the robbery.”
“But what is the good of all these vague
theories,” cried the banker impatiently,
“when I have told you that I saw Arthur
with the coronet in his hands?”
“Wait a little, Mr. Holder.
We must come back to that.
About this girl, Miss Holder.
You saw her return by the kitchen door, I
presume?”
“Yes; when I went to see if the door was
fastened for the night I met her slipping
in.
I saw the man, too, in the gloom.”
“Do you know him?”
“Oh, yes! he is the greengrocer who brings
our vegetables round.
His name is Francis Prosper.”
“He stood,” said Holmes, “to the left
of the door—that is to say, farther up the
path than is necessary to reach the door?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And he is a man with a wooden leg?”
Something like fear sprang up in the young
lady’s expressive black eyes.
“Why, you are like a magician,” said she.
“How do you know that?”
She smiled, but there was no answering smile
in Holmes’ thin, eager face.
“I should be very glad now to go upstairs,”
said he.
“I shall probably wish to go over the outside
of the house again.
Perhaps I had better take a look at the lower
windows before I go up.”
He walked swiftly round from one to the other,
pausing only at the large one which looked
from the hall onto the stable lane.
This he opened and made a very careful examination
of the sill with his powerful magnifying lens.
“Now we shall go upstairs,” said he at
last.
The banker’s dressing-room was a plainly
furnished little chamber, with a grey carpet,
a large bureau, and a long mirror.
Holmes went to the bureau first and looked
hard at the lock.
“Which key was used to open it?” he asked.
“That which my son himself indicated—that
of the cupboard of the lumber-room.”
“Have you it here?”
“That is it on the dressing-table.”
Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the
bureau.
“It is a noiseless lock,” said he.
“It is no wonder that it did not wake you.
This case, I presume, contains the coronet.
We must have a look at it.”
He opened the case, and taking out the diadem
he laid it upon the table.
It was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller’s
art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest
that I have ever seen.
At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge,
where a corner holding three gems had been
torn away.
“Now, Mr. Holder,” said Holmes, “here
is the corner which corresponds to that which
has been so unfortunately lost.
Might I beg that you will break it off.”
The banker recoiled in horror.
“I should not dream of trying,” said he.
“Then I will.”
Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it,
but without result.
“I feel it give a little,” said he; “but,
though I am exceptionally strong in the fingers,
it would take me all my time to break it.
An ordinary man could not do it.
Now, what do you think would happen if I did
break it, Mr. Holder?
There would be a noise like a pistol shot.
Do you tell me that all this happened within
a few yards of your bed and that you heard
nothing of it?”
“I do not know what to think.
It is all dark to me.”
“But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go.
What do you think, Miss Holder?”
“I confess that I still share my uncle’s
perplexity.”
“Your son had no shoes or slippers on when
you saw him?”
“He had nothing on save only his trousers
and shirt.”
“Thank you.
We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary
luck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely
our own fault if we do not succeed in clearing
the matter up.
With your permission, Mr. Holder, I shall
now continue my investigations outside.”
He went alone, at his own request, for he
explained that any unnecessary footmarks might
make his task more difficult.
For an hour or more he was at work, returning
at last with his feet heavy with snow and
his features as inscrutable as ever.
“I think that I have seen now all that there
is to see, Mr. Holder,” said he; “I can
serve you best by returning to my rooms.”
“But the gems, Mr. Holmes.
Where are they?”
“I cannot tell.”
The banker wrung his hands.
“I shall never see them again!” he cried.
“And my son?
You give me hopes?”
“My opinion is in no way altered.”
“Then, for God’s sake, what was this dark
business which was acted in my house last
night?”
“If you can call upon me at my Baker Street
rooms to-morrow morning between nine and ten
I shall be happy to do what I can to make
it clearer.
I understand that you give me carte blanche
to act for you, provided only that I get back
the gems, and that you place no limit on the
sum I may draw.”
“I would give my fortune to have them back.”
“Very good.
I shall look into the matter between this
and then.
Good-bye; it is just possible that I may have
to come over here again before evening.”
It was obvious to me that my companion’s
mind was now made up about the case, although
what his conclusions were was more than I
could even dimly imagine.
Several times during our homeward journey
I endeavoured to sound him upon the point,
but he always glided away to some other topic,
until at last I gave it over in despair.
It was not yet three when we found ourselves
in our rooms once more.
He hurried to his chamber and was down again
in a few minutes dressed as a common loafer.
With his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy
coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots,
he was a perfect sample of the class.
“I think that this should do,” said he,
glancing into the glass above the fireplace.
“I only wish that you could come with me,
Watson, but I fear that it won’t do.
I may be on the trail in this matter, or I
may be following a will-o’-the-wisp, but
I shall soon know which it is.
I hope that I may be back in a few hours.”
He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon
the sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds
of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into
his pocket he started off upon his expedition.
I had just finished my tea when he returned,
evidently in excellent spirits, swinging an
old elastic-sided boot in his hand.
He chucked it down into a corner and helped
himself to a cup of tea.
“I only looked in as I passed,” said he.
“I am going right on.”
“Where to?”
“Oh, to the other side of the West End.
It may be some time before I get back.
Don’t wait up for me in case I should be
late.”
“How are you getting on?”
“Oh, so so.
Nothing to complain of.
I have been out to Streatham since I saw you
last, but I did not call at the house.
It is a very sweet little problem, and I would
not have missed it for a good deal.
However, I must not sit gossiping here, but
must get these disreputable clothes off and
return to my highly respectable self.”
I could see by his manner that he had stronger
reasons for satisfaction than his words alone
would imply.
His eyes twinkled, and there was even a touch
of colour upon his sallow cheeks.
He hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later
I heard the slam of the hall door, which told
me that he was off once more upon his congenial
hunt.
I waited until midnight, but there was no
sign of his return, so I retired to my room.
It was no uncommon thing for him to be away
for days and nights on end when he was hot
upon a scent, so that his lateness caused
me no surprise.
I do not know at what hour he came in, but
when I came down to breakfast in the morning
there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand
and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim
as possible.
“You will excuse my beginning without you,
Watson,” said he, “but you remember that
our client has rather an early appointment
this morning.”
“Why, it is after nine now,” I answered.
“I should not be surprised if that were
he.
I thought I heard a ring.”
It was, indeed, our friend the financier.
I was shocked by the change which had come
over him, for his face which was naturally
of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched
and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me
at least a shade whiter.
He entered with a weariness and lethargy which
was even more painful than his violence of
the morning before, and he dropped heavily
into the armchair which I pushed forward for
him.
“I do not know what I have done to be so
severely tried,” said he.
“Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous
man, without a care in the world.
Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured
age.
One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another.
My niece, Mary, has deserted me.”
“Deserted you?”
“Yes.
Her bed this morning had not been slept in,
her room was empty, and a note for me lay
upon the hall table.
I had said to her last night, in sorrow and
not in anger, that if she had married my boy
all might have been well with him.
Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so.
It is to that remark that she refers in this
note:
“‘MY DEAREST UNCLE,—I feel that I have
brought trouble upon you, and that if I had
acted differently this terrible misfortune
might never have occurred.
I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever
again be happy under your roof, and I feel
that I must leave you forever.
Do not worry about my future, for that is
provided for; and, above all, do not search
for me, for it will be fruitless labour and
an ill-service to me.
In life or in death, I am ever your loving,
“‘MARY.’
“What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes?
Do you think it points to suicide?”
“No, no, nothing of the kind.
It is perhaps the best possible solution.
I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing
the end of your troubles.”
“Ha!
You say so!
You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you
have learned something!
Where are the gems?”
“You would not think £ 1000 apiece an excessive
sum for them?”
“I would pay ten.”
“That would be unnecessary.
Three thousand will cover the matter.
And there is a little reward, I fancy.
Have you your cheque-book?
Here is a pen.
Better make it out for £ 4000.”
With a dazed face the banker made out the
required check.
Holmes walked over to his desk, took out a
little triangular piece of gold with three
gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.
With a shriek of joy our client clutched it
up.
“You have it!” he gasped.
“I am saved!
I am saved!”
The reaction of joy was as passionate as his
grief had been, and he hugged his recovered
gems to his bosom.
“There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder,”
said Sherlock Holmes rather sternly.
“Owe!”
He caught up a pen.
“Name the sum, and I will pay it.”
“No, the debt is not to me.
You owe a very humble apology to that noble
lad, your son, who has carried himself in
this matter as I should be proud to see my
own son do, should I ever chance to have one.”
“Then it was not Arthur who took them?”
“I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day,
that it was not.”
“You are sure of it!
Then let us hurry to him at once to let him
know that the truth is known.”
“He knows it already.
When I had cleared it all up I had an interview
with him, and finding that he would not tell
me the story, I told it to him, on which he
had to confess that I was right and to add
the very few details which were not yet quite
clear to me.
Your news of this morning, however, may open
his lips.”
“For Heaven’s sake, tell me, then, what
is this extraordinary mystery!”
“I will do so, and I will show you the steps
by which I reached it.
And let me say to you, first, that which it
is hardest for me to say and for you to hear:
there has been an understanding between Sir
George Burnwell and your niece Mary.
They have now fled together.”
“My Mary?
Impossible!”
“It is unfortunately more than possible;
it is certain.
Neither you nor your son knew the true character
of this man when you admitted him into your
family circle.
He is one of the most dangerous men in England—a
ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain,
a man without heart or conscience.
Your niece knew nothing of such men.
When he breathed his vows to her, as he had
done to a hundred before her, she flattered
herself that she alone had touched his heart.
The devil knows best what he said, but at
least she became his tool and was in the habit
of seeing him nearly every evening.”
“I cannot, and I will not, believe it!”
cried the banker with an ashen face.
“I will tell you, then, what occurred in
your house last night.
Your niece, when you had, as she thought,
gone to your room, slipped down and talked
to her lover through the window which leads
into the stable lane.
His footmarks had pressed right through the
snow, so long had he stood there.
She told him of the coronet.
His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news,
and he bent her to his will.
I have no doubt that she loved you, but there
are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes
all other loves, and I think that she must
have been one.
She had hardly listened to his instructions
when she saw you coming downstairs, on which
she closed the window rapidly and told you
about one of the servants’ escapade with
her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectly
true.
“Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his
interview with you but he slept badly on account
of his uneasiness about his club debts.
In the middle of the night he heard a soft
tread pass his door, so he rose and, looking
out, was surprised to see his cousin walking
very stealthily along the passage until she
disappeared into your dressing-room.
Petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped
on some clothes and waited there in the dark
to see what would come of this strange affair.
Presently she emerged from the room again,
and in the light of the passage-lamp your
son saw that she carried the precious coronet
in her hands.
She passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling
with horror, ran along and slipped behind
the curtain near your door, whence he could
see what passed in the hall beneath.
He saw her stealthily open the window, hand
out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and
then closing it once more hurry back to her
room, passing quite close to where he stood
hid behind the curtain.
“As long as she was on the scene he could
not take any action without a horrible exposure
of the woman whom he loved.
But the instant that she was gone he realised
how crushing a misfortune this would be for
you, and how all-important it was to set it
right.
He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare
feet, opened the window, sprang out into the
snow, and ran down the lane, where he could
see a dark figure in the moonlight.
Sir George Burnwell tried to get away, but
Arthur caught him, and there was a struggle
between them, your lad tugging at one side
of the coronet, and his opponent at the other.
In the scuffle, your son struck Sir George
and cut him over the eye.
Then something suddenly snapped, and your
son, finding that he had the coronet in his
hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended
to your room, and had just observed that the
coronet had been twisted in the struggle and
was endeavouring to straighten it when you
appeared upon the scene.”
“Is it possible?”
gasped the banker.
“You then roused his anger by calling him
names at a moment when he felt that he had
deserved your warmest thanks.
He could not explain the true state of affairs
without betraying one who certainly deserved
little enough consideration at his hands.
He took the more chivalrous view, however,
and preserved her secret.”
“And that was why she shrieked and fainted
when she saw the coronet,” cried Mr. Holder.
“Oh, my God!
what a blind fool I have been!
And his asking to be allowed to go out for
five minutes!
The dear fellow wanted to see if the missing
piece were at the scene of the struggle.
How cruelly I have misjudged him!”
“When I arrived at the house,” continued
Holmes, “I at once went very carefully round
it to observe if there were any traces in
the snow which might help me.
I knew that none had fallen since the evening
before, and also that there had been a strong
frost to preserve impressions.
I passed along the tradesmen’s path, but
found it all trampled down and indistinguishable.
Just beyond it, however, at the far side of
the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked
with a man, whose round impressions on one
side showed that he had a wooden leg.
I could even tell that they had been disturbed,
for the woman had run back swiftly to the
door, as was shown by the deep toe and light
heel marks, while Wooden-leg had waited a
little, and then had gone away.
I thought at the time that this might be the
maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had already
spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so.
I passed round the garden without seeing anything
more than random tracks, which I took to be
the police; but when I got into the stable
lane a very long and complex story was written
in the snow in front of me.
“There was a double line of tracks of a
booted man, and a second double line which
I saw with delight belonged to a man with
naked feet.
I was at once convinced from what you had
told me that the latter was your son.
The first had walked both ways, but the other
had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked
in places over the depression of the boot,
it was obvious that he had passed after the
other.
I followed them up and found they led to the
hall window, where Boots had worn all the
snow away while waiting.
Then I walked to the other end, which was
a hundred yards or more down the lane.
I saw where Boots had faced round, where the
snow was cut up as though there had been a
struggle, and, finally, where a few drops
of blood had fallen, to show me that I was
not mistaken.
Boots had then run down the lane, and another
little smudge of blood showed that it was
he who had been hurt.
When he came to the highroad at the other
end, I found that the pavement had been cleared,
so there was an end to that clue.
“On entering the house, however, I examined,
as you remember, the sill and framework of
the hall window with my lens, and I could
at once see that someone had passed out.
I could distinguish the outline of an instep
where the wet foot had been placed in coming
in.
I was then beginning to be able to form an
opinion as to what had occurred.
A man had waited outside the window; someone
had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen
by your son; he had pursued the thief; had
struggled with him; they had each tugged at
the coronet, their united strength causing
injuries which neither alone could have effected.
He had returned with the prize, but had left
a fragment in the grasp of his opponent.
So far I was clear.
The question now was, who was the man and
who was it brought him the coronet?
“It is an old maxim of mine that when you
have excluded the impossible, whatever remains,
however improbable, must be the truth.
Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought
it down, so there only remained your niece
and the maids.
But if it were the maids, why should your
son allow himself to be accused in their place?
There could be no possible reason.
As he loved his cousin, however, there was
an excellent explanation why he should retain
her secret—the more so as the secret was
a disgraceful one.
When I remembered that you had seen her at
that window, and how she had fainted on seeing
the coronet again, my conjecture became a
certainty.
“And who could it be who was her confederate?
A lover evidently, for who else could outweigh
the love and gratitude which she must feel
to you?
I knew that you went out little, and that
your circle of friends was a very limited
one.
But among them was Sir George Burnwell.
I had heard of him before as being a man of
evil reputation among women.
It must have been he who wore those boots
and retained the missing gems.
Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered
him, he might still flatter himself that he
was safe, for the lad could not say a word
without compromising his own family.
“Well, your own good sense will suggest
what measures I took next.
I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George’s
house, managed to pick up an acquaintance
with his valet, learned that his master had
cut his head the night before, and, finally,
at the expense of six shillings, made all
sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes.
With these I journeyed down to Streatham and
saw that they exactly fitted the tracks.”
“I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane
yesterday evening,” said Mr. Holder.
“Precisely.
It was I. I found that I had my man, so I
came home and changed my clothes.
It was a delicate part which I had to play
then, for I saw that a prosecution must be
avoided to avert scandal, and I knew that
so astute a villain would see that our hands
were tied in the matter.
I went and saw him.
At first, of course, he denied everything.
But when I gave him every particular that
had occurred, he tried to bluster and took
down a life-preserver from the wall.
I knew my man, however, and I clapped a pistol
to his head before he could strike.
Then he became a little more reasonable.
I told him that we would give him a price
for the stones he held—£ 1000 apiece.
That brought out the first signs of grief
that he had shown.
‘Why, dash it all!’ said he, ‘I’ve
let them go at six hundred for the three!’
I soon managed to get the address of the receiver
who had them, on promising him that there
would be no prosecution.
Off I set to him, and after much chaffering
I got our stones at £ 1000 apiece.
Then I looked in upon your son, told him that
all was right, and eventually got to my bed
about two o’clock, after what I may call
a really hard day’s work.”
“A day which has saved England from a great
public scandal,” said the banker, rising.
“Sir, I cannot find words to thank you,
but you shall not find me ungrateful for what
you have done.
Your skill has indeed exceeded all that I
have heard of it.
And now I must fly to my dear boy to apologise
to him for the wrong which I have done him.
As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes
to my very heart.
Not even your skill can inform me where she
is now.”
“I think that we may safely say,” returned
Holmes, “that she is wherever Sir George
Burnwell is.
It is equally certain, too, that whatever
her sins are, they will soon receive a more
than sufficient punishment.”
