The Sign of the Four By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Chapter I The Science of Deduction
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner
of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe
from its neat morocco case. With his long,
white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate
needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff.
For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully
upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted
and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks.
Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed
down the tiny piston, and sank back into the
velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of
satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed
this performance, but custom had not reconciled
my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to
day I had become more irritable at the sight,
and my conscience swelled nightly within me
at the thought that I had lacked the courage
to protest. Again and again I had registered
a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the
subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant
air of my companion which made him the last
man with whom one would care to take anything
approaching to a liberty. His great powers,
his masterly manner, and the experience which
I had had of his many extraordinary qualities,
all made me diffident and backward in crossing
him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the
Beaune which I had taken with my lunch, or
the additional exasperation produced by the
extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly
felt that I could hold out no longer.
"Which is it to-day?" I asked,—"morphine
or cocaine?"
He raised his eyes languidly from the old
black-letter volume which he had opened. "It
is cocaine," he said,—"a seven-per-cent.
solution. Would you care to try it?"
"No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution
has not got over the Afghan campaign yet.
I cannot afford to throw any extra strain
upon it."
He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are
right, Watson," he said. "I suppose that its
influence is physically a bad one. I find
it, however, so transcendently stimulating
and clarifying to the mind that its secondary
action is a matter of small moment."
"But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count
the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be roused
and excited, but it is a pathological and
morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change
and may at last leave a permanent weakness.
You know, too, what a black reaction comes
upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth
the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing
pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers
with which you have been endowed? Remember
that I speak not only as one comrade to another,
but as a medical man to one for whose constitution
he is to some extent answerable."
He did not seem offended. On the contrary,
he put his finger-tips together and leaned
his elbows on the arms of his chair, like
one who has a relish for conversation.
"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation.
Give me problems, give me work, give me the
most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate
analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere.
I can dispense then with artificial stimulants.
But I abhor the dull routine of existence.
I crave for mental exaltation. That is why
I have chosen my own particular profession,—or
rather created it, for I am the only one in
the world."
"The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising
my eyebrows.
"The only unofficial consulting detective,"
he answered. "I am the last and highest court
of appeal in detection. When Gregson or Lestrade
or Athelney Jones are out of their depths—which,
by the way, is their normal state—the matter
is laid before me. I examine the data, as
an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion.
I claim no credit in such cases. My name figures
in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure
of finding a field for my peculiar powers,
is my highest reward. But you have yourself
had some experience of my methods of work
in the Jefferson Hope case."
"Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never
so struck by anything in my life. I even embodied
it in a small brochure with the somewhat fantastic
title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'"
He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it,"
said he. "Honestly, I cannot congratulate
you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be,
an exact science, and should be treated in
the same cold and unemotional manner. You
have attempted to tinge it with romanticism,
which produces much the same effect as if
you worked a love-story or an elopement into
the fifth proposition of Euclid."
"But the romance was there," I remonstrated.
"I could not tamper with the facts."
"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least
a just sense of proportion should be observed
in treating them. The only point in the case
which deserved mention was the curious analytical
reasoning from effects to causes by which
I succeeded in unraveling it."
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work
which had been specially designed to please
him. I confess, too, that I was irritated
by the egotism which seemed to demand that
every line of my pamphlet should be devoted
to his own special doings. More than once
during the years that I had lived with him
in Baker Street I had observed that a small
vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic
manner. I made no remark, however, but sat
nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet
through it some time before, and, though it
did not prevent me from walking, it ached
wearily at every change of the weather.
"My practice has extended recently to the
Continent," said Holmes, after a while, filling
up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted
last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as
you probably know, has come rather to the
front lately in the French detective service.
He has all the Celtic power of quick intuition,
but he is deficient in the wide range of exact
knowledge which is essential to the higher
developments of his art. The case was concerned
with a will, and possessed some features of
interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel
cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other
at St. Louis in 1871, which have suggested
to him the true solution. Here is the letter
which I had this morning acknowledging my
assistance." He tossed over, as he spoke,
a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced
my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes
of admiration, with stray "magnifiques," "coup-de-maitres,"
and "tours-de-force," all testifying to the
ardent admiration of the Frenchman.
"He speaks as a pupil to his master," said
I.
"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said
Sherlock Holmes, lightly. "He has considerable
gifts himself. He possesses two out of the
three qualities necessary for the ideal detective.
He has the power of observation and that of
deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge;
and that may come in time. He is now translating
my small works into French."
"Your works?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing.
"Yes, I have been guilty of several monographs.
They are all upon technical subjects. Here,
for example, is one 'Upon the Distinction
between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccoes.'
In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms
of cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with
colored plates illustrating the difference
in the ash. It is a point which is continually
turning up in criminal trials, and which is
sometimes of supreme importance as a clue.
If you can say definitely, for example, that
some murder has been done by a man who was
smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows
your field of search. To the trained eye there
is as much difference between the black ash
of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye
as there is between a cabbage and a potato."
"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae,"
I remarked.
"I appreciate their importance. Here is my
monograph upon the tracing of footsteps, with
some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris
as a preserver of impresses. Here, too, is
a curious little work upon the influence of
a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes
of the hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters,
compositors, weavers, and diamond-polishers.
That is a matter of great practical interest
to the scientific detective,—especially
in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in discovering
the antecedents of criminals. But I weary
you with my hobby."
"Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is
of the greatest interest to me, especially
since I have had the opportunity of observing
your practical application of it. But you
spoke just now of observation and deduction.
Surely the one to some extent implies the
other."
"Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously
in his arm-chair, and sending up thick blue
wreaths from his pipe. "For example, observation
shows me that you have been to the Wigmore
Street Post-Office this morning, but deduction
lets me know that when there you dispatched
a telegram."
"Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But
I confess that I don't see how you arrived
at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part,
and I have mentioned it to no one."
"It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling
at my surprise,—"so absurdly simple that
an explanation is superfluous; and yet it
may serve to define the limits of observation
and of deduction. Observation tells me that
you have a little reddish mould adhering to
your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street
Office they have taken up the pavement and
thrown up some earth which lies in such a
way that it is difficult to avoid treading
in it in entering. The earth is of this peculiar
reddish tint which is found, as far as I know,
nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much
is observation. The rest is deduction."
"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?"
"Why, of course I knew that you had not written
a letter, since I sat opposite to you all
morning. I see also in your open desk there
that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick
bundle of post-cards. What could you go into
the post-office for, then, but to send a wire?
Eliminate all other factors, and the one which
remains must be the truth."
"In this case it certainly is so," I replied,
after a little thought. "The thing, however,
is, as you say, of the simplest. Would you
think me impertinent if I were to put your
theories to a more severe test?"
"On the contrary," he answered, "it would
prevent me from taking a second dose of cocaine.
I should be delighted to look into any problem
which you might submit to me."
"I have heard you say that it is difficult
for a man to have any object in daily use
without leaving the impress of his individuality
upon it in such a way that a trained observer
might read it. Now, I have here a watch which
has recently come into my possession. Would
you have the kindness to let me have an opinion
upon the character or habits of the late owner?"
I handed him over the watch with some slight
feeling of amusement in my heart, for the
test was, as I thought, an impossible one,
and I intended it as a lesson against the
somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally
assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand,
gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and
examined the works, first with his naked eyes
and then with a powerful convex lens. I could
hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen
face when he finally snapped the case to and
handed it back.
"There are hardly any data," he remarked.
"The watch has been recently cleaned, which
robs me of my most suggestive facts."
"You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned
before being sent to me." In my heart I accused
my companion of putting forward a most lame
and impotent excuse to cover his failure.
What data could he expect from an uncleaned
watch?
"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not
been entirely barren," he observed, staring
up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre
eyes. "Subject to your correction, I should
judge that the watch belonged to your elder
brother, who inherited it from your father."
"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W.
upon the back?"
"Quite so. The W. suggests your own name.
The date of the watch is nearly fifty years
back, and the initials are as old as the watch:
so it was made for the last generation. Jewelry
usually descends to the eldest son, and he
is most likely to have the same name as the
father. Your father has, if I remember right,
been dead many years. It has, therefore, been
in the hands of your eldest brother."
"Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"
"He was a man of untidy habits,—very untidy
and careless. He was left with good prospects,
but he threw away his chances, lived for some
time in poverty with occasional short intervals
of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink,
he died. That is all I can gather."
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently
about the room with considerable bitterness
in my heart.
"This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said.
"I could not have believed that you would
have descended to this. You have made inquires
into the history of my unhappy brother, and
you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in
some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to
believe that you have read all this from his
old watch! It is unkind, and, to speak plainly,
has a touch of charlatanism in it."
"My dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept
my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract
problem, I had forgotten how personal and
painful a thing it might be to you. I assure
you, however, that I never even knew that
you had a brother until you handed me the
watch."
"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful
did you get these facts? They are absolutely
correct in every particular."
"Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what
was the balance of probability. I did not
at all expect to be so accurate."
"But it was not mere guess-work?"
"No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,—destructive
to the logical faculty. What seems strange
to you is only so because you do not follow
my train of thought or observe the small facts
upon which large inferences may depend. For
example, I began by stating that your brother
was careless. When you observe the lower part
of that watch-case you notice that it is not
only dinted in two places, but it is cut and
marked all over from the habit of keeping
other hard objects, such as coins or keys,
in the same pocket. Surely it is no great
feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea
watch so cavalierly must be a careless man.
Neither is it a very far-fetched inference
that a man who inherits one article of such
value is pretty well provided for in other
respects."
I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.
"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England,
when they take a watch, to scratch the number
of the ticket with a pin-point upon the inside
of the case. It is more handy than a label,
as there is no risk of the number being lost
or transposed. There are no less than four
such numbers visible to my lens on the inside
of this case. Inference,—that your brother
was often at low water. Secondary inference,—that
he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or
he could not have redeemed the pledge. Finally,
I ask you to look at the inner plate, which
contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands
of scratches all round the hole,—marks where
the key has slipped. What sober man's key
could have scored those grooves? But you will
never see a drunkard's watch without them.
He winds it at night, and he leaves these
traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the
mystery in all this?"
"It is as clear as daylight," I answered.
"I regret the injustice which I did you. I
should have had more faith in your marvellous
faculty. May I ask whether you have any professional
inquiry on foot at present?"
"None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without
brain-work. What else is there to live for?
Stand at the window here. Was ever such a
dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how
the yellow fog swirls down the street and
drifts across the dun-colored houses. What
could be more hopelessly prosaic and material?
What is the use of having powers, doctor,
when one has no field upon which to exert
them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace,
and no qualities save those which are commonplace
have any function upon earth."
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade,
when with a crisp knock our landlady entered,
bearing a card upon the brass salver.
"A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing
my companion.
"Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have
no recollection of the name. Ask the young
lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor.
I should prefer that you remain."
Chapter II. The Statement of the Case
Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm
step and an outward composure of manner. She
was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well
gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste.
There was, however, a plainness and simplicity
about her costume which bore with it a suggestion
of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish
beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore
a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved
only by a suspicion of white feather in the
side. Her face had neither regularity of feature
nor beauty of complexion, but her expression
was sweet and amiable, and her large blue
eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic.
In an experience of women which extends over
many nations and three separate continents,
I have never looked upon a face which gave
a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive
nature. I could not but observe that as she
took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed
for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered,
and she showed every sign of intense inward
agitation.
"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said,
"because you once enabled my employer, Mrs.
Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic
complication. She was much impressed by your
kindness and skill."
"Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully.
"I believe that I was of some slight service
to her. The case, however, as I remember it,
was a very simple one."
"She did not think so. But at least you cannot
say the same of mine. I can hardly imagine
anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable,
than the situation in which I find myself."
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened.
He leaned forward in his chair with an expression
of extraordinary concentration upon his clear-cut,
hawklike features. "State your case," said
he, in brisk, business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing
one. "You will, I am sure, excuse me," I said,
rising from my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her
gloved hand to detain me. "If your friend,"
she said, "would be good enough to stop, he
might be of inestimable service to me."
I relapsed into my chair.
"Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these.
My father was an officer in an Indian regiment
who sent me home when I was quite a child.
My mother was dead, and I had no relative
in England. I was placed, however, in a comfortable
boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there
I remained until I was seventeen years of
age. In the year 1878 my father, who was senior
captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months'
leave and came home. He telegraphed to me
from London that he had arrived all safe,
and directed me to come down at once, giving
the Langham Hotel as his address. His message,
as I remember, was full of kindness and love.
On reaching London I drove to the Langham,
and was informed that Captain Morstan was
staying there, but that he had gone out the
night before and had not yet returned. I waited
all day without news of him. That night, on
the advice of the manager of the hotel, I
communicated with the police, and next morning
we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries
led to no result; and from that day to this
no word has ever been heard of my unfortunate
father. He came home with his heart full of
hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and
instead—" She put her hand to her throat,
and a choking sob cut short the sentence.
"The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.
"He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,—nearly
ten years ago."
"His luggage?"
"Remained at the hotel. There was nothing
in it to suggest a clue,—some clothes, some
books, and a considerable number of curiosities
from the Andaman Islands. He had been one
of the officers in charge of the convict-guard
there."
"Had he any friends in town?"
"Only one that we know of,—Major Sholto,
of his own regiment, the 34th Bombay Infantry.
The major had retired some little time before,
and lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated
with him, of course, but he did not even know
that his brother officer was in England."
"A singular case," remarked Holmes.
"I have not yet described to you the most
singular part. About six years ago—to be
exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882—an advertisement
appeared in the Times asking for the address
of Miss Mary Morstan and stating that it would
be to her advantage to come forward. There
was no name or address appended. I had at
that time just entered the family of Mrs.
Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess.
By her advice I published my address in the
advertisement column. The same day there arrived
through the post a small card-board box addressed
to me, which I found to contain a very large
and lustrous pearl. No word of writing was
enclosed. Since then every year upon the same
date there has always appeared a similar box,
containing a similar pearl, without any clue
as to the sender. They have been pronounced
by an expert to be of a rare variety and of
considerable value. You can see for yourselves
that they are very handsome." She opened a
flat box as she spoke, and showed me six of
the finest pearls that I had ever seen.
"Your statement is most interesting," said
Sherlock Holmes. "Has anything else occurred
to you?"
"Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why
I have come to you. This morning I received
this letter, which you will perhaps read for
yourself."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too,
please. Postmark, London, S.W. Date, July
7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on corner,—probably
postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at
sixpence a packet. Particular man in his stationery.
No address. 'Be at the third pillar from the
left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at
seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring
two friends. You are a wronged woman, and
shall have justice. Do not bring police. If
you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown
friend.' Well, really, this is a very pretty
little mystery. What do you intend to do,
Miss Morstan?"
"That is exactly what I want to ask you."
"Then we shall most certainly go. You and
I and—yes, why, Dr. Watson is the very man.
Your correspondent says two friends. He and
I have worked together before."
"But would he come?" she asked, with something
appealing in her voice and expression.
"I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently,
"if I can be of any service."
"You are both very kind," she answered. "I
have led a retired life, and have no friends
whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six
it will do, I suppose?"
"You must not be later," said Holmes. "There
is one other point, however. Is this handwriting
the same as that upon the pearl-box addresses?"
"I have them here," she answered, producing
half a dozen pieces of paper.
"You are certainly a model client. You have
the correct intuition. Let us see, now." He
spread out the papers upon the table, and
gave little darting glances from one to the
other. "They are disguised hands, except the
letter," he said, presently, "but there can
be no question as to the authorship. See how
the irrepressible Greek e will break out,
and see the twirl of the final s. They are
undoubtedly by the same person. I should not
like to suggest false hopes, Miss Morstan,
but is there any resemblance between this
hand and that of your father?"
"Nothing could be more unlike."
"I expected to hear you say so. We shall look
out for you, then, at six. Pray allow me to
keep the papers. I may look into the matter
before then. It is only half-past three. Au
revoir, then."
"Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a
bright, kindly glance from one to the other
of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom
and hurried away. Standing at the window,
I watched her walking briskly down the street,
until the gray turban and white feather were
but a speck in the sombre crowd.
"What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed,
turning to my companion.
He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning
back with drooping eyelids. "Is she?" he said,
languidly. "I did not observe."
"You really are an automaton,—a calculating-machine!"
I cried. "There is something positively inhuman
in you at times."
He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance,"
he said, "not to allow your judgment to be
biased by personal qualities. A client is
to me a mere unit,—a factor in a problem.
The emotional qualities are antagonistic to
clear reasoning. I assure you that the most
winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning
three little children for their insurance-money,
and the most repellant man of my acquaintance
is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a
quarter of a million upon the London poor."
"In this case, however—"
"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves
the rule. Have you ever had occasion to study
character in handwriting? What do you make
of this fellow's scribble?"
"It is legible and regular," I answered. "A
man of business habits and some force of character."
Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters,"
he said. "They hardly rise above the common
herd. That d might be an a, and that l an
e. Men of character always differentiate their
long letters, however illegibly they may write.
There is vacillation in his k's and self-esteem
in his capitals. I am going out now. I have
some few references to make. Let me recommend
this book,—one of the most remarkable ever
penned. It is Winwood Reade's 'Martyrdom of
Man.' I shall be back in an hour."
I sat in the window with the volume in my
hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring
speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon
our late visitor,—her smiles, the deep rich
tones of her voice, the strange mystery which
overhung her life. If she were seventeen at
the time of her father's disappearance she
must be seven-and-twenty now,—a sweet age,
when youth has lost its self-consciousness
and become a little sobered by experience.
So I sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts
came into my head that I hurried away to my
desk and plunged furiously into the latest
treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army
surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account,
that I should dare to think of such things?
She was a unit, a factor,—nothing more.
If my future were black, it was better surely
to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten
it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.
Chapter III . In Quest of a Solution
It was half-past five before Holmes returned.
He was bright, eager, and in excellent spirits,—a
mood which in his case alternated with fits
of the blackest depression.
"There is no great mystery in this matter,"
he said, taking the cup of tea which I had
poured out for him. "The facts appear to admit
of only one explanation."
"What! you have solved it already?"
"Well, that would be too much to say. I have
discovered a suggestive fact, that is all.
It is, however, VERY suggestive. The details
are still to be added. I have just found,
on consulting the back files of the Times,
that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late
of the 34th Bombay Infantry, died upon the
28th of April, 1882."
"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail
to see what this suggests."
"No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way,
then. Captain Morstan disappears. The only
person in London whom he could have visited
is Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having
heard that he was in London. Four years later
Sholto dies. WITHIN A WEEK OF HIS DEATH Captain
Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present,
which is repeated from year to year, and now
culminates in a letter which describes her
as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer
to except this deprivation of her father?
And why should the presents begin immediately
after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's
heir knows something of the mystery and desires
to make compensation? Have you any alternative
theory which will meet the facts?"
"But what a strange compensation! And how
strangely made! Why, too, should he write
a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again,
the letter speaks of giving her justice. What
justice can she have? It is too much to suppose
that her father is still alive. There is no
other injustice in her case that you know
of."
"There are difficulties; there are certainly
difficulties," said Sherlock Holmes, pensively.
"But our expedition of to-night will solve
them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and
Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready?
Then we had better go down, for it is a little
past the hour."
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick,
but I observed that Holmes took his revolver
from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket.
It was clear that he thought that our night's
work might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak,
and her sensitive face was composed, but pale.
She must have been more than woman if she
did not feel some uneasiness at the strange
enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet
her self-control was perfect, and she readily
answered the few additional questions which
Sherlock Holmes put to her.
"Major Sholto was a very particular friend
of papa's," she said. "His letters were full
of allusions to the major. He and papa were
in command of the troops at the Andaman Islands,
so they were thrown a great deal together.
By the way, a curious paper was found in papa's
desk which no one could understand. I don't
suppose that it is of the slightest importance,
but I thought you might care to see it, so
I brought it with me. It is here."
Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed
it out upon his knee. He then very methodically
examined it all over with his double lens.
"It is paper of native Indian manufacture,"
he remarked. "It has at some time been pinned
to a board. The diagram upon it appears to
be a plan of part of a large building with
numerous halls, corridors, and passages. At
one point is a small cross done in red ink,
and above it is '3.37 from left,' in faded
pencil-writing. In the left-hand corner is
a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in
a line with their arms touching. Beside it
is written, in very rough and coarse characters,
'The sign of the four,—Jonathan Small, Mahomet
Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess
that I do not see how this bears upon the
matter. Yet it is evidently a document of
importance. It has been kept carefully in
a pocket-book; for the one side is as clean
as the other."
"It was in his pocket-book that we found it."
"Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan,
for it may prove to be of use to us. I begin
to suspect that this matter may turn out to
be much deeper and more subtle than I at first
supposed. I must reconsider my ideas." He
leaned back in the cab, and I could see by
his drawn brow and his vacant eye that he
was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and I
chatted in an undertone about our present
expedition and its possible outcome, but our
companion maintained his impenetrable reserve
until the end of our journey.
It was a September evening, and not yet seven
o'clock, but the day had been a dreary one,
and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great
city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over
the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps
were but misty splotches of diffused light
which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon
the slimy pavement. The yellow glare from
the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy,
vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting
radiance across the crowded thoroughfare.
There was, to my mind, something eerie and
ghost-like in the endless procession of faces
which flitted across these narrow bars of
light,—sad faces and glad, haggard and merry.
Like all human kind, they flitted from the
gloom into the light, and so back into the
gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions,
but the dull, heavy evening, with the strange
business upon which we were engaged, combined
to make me nervous and depressed. I could
see from Miss Morstan's manner that she was
suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone
could rise superior to petty influences. He
held his open note-book upon his knee, and
from time to time he jotted down figures and
memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.
At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already
thick at the side-entrances. In front a continuous
stream of hansoms and four-wheelers were rattling
up, discharging their cargoes of shirt-fronted
men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had
hardly reached the third pillar, which was
our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk
man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.
"Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?"
he asked.
"I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen
are my friends," said she.
He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating
and questioning eyes upon us. "You will excuse
me, miss," he said with a certain dogged manner,
"but I was to ask you to give me your word
that neither of your companions is a police-officer."
"I give you my word on that," she answered.
He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street
Arab led across a four-wheeler and opened
the door. The man who had addressed us mounted
to the box, while we took our places inside.
We had hardly done so before the driver whipped
up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious
pace through the foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We were driving
to an unknown place, on an unknown errand.
Yet our invitation was either a complete hoax,—which
was an inconceivable hypothesis,—or else
we had good reason to think that important
issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan's
demeanor was as resolute and collected as
ever. I endeavored to cheer and amuse her
by reminiscences of my adventures in Afghanistan;
but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited
at our situation and so curious as to our
destination that my stories were slightly
involved. To this day she declares that I
told her one moving anecdote as to how a musket
looked into my tent at the dead of night,
and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub
at it. At first I had some idea as to the
direction in which we were driving; but soon,
what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited
knowledge of London, I lost my bearings, and
knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going
a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never
at fault, however, and he muttered the names
as the cab rattled through squares and in
and out by tortuous by-streets.
"Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square.
Now we come out on the Vauxhall Bridge Road.
We are making for the Surrey side, apparently.
Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge.
You can catch glimpses of the river."
We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch
of the Thames with the lamps shining upon
the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed
on, and was soon involved in a labyrinth of
streets upon the other side.
"Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory
Road. Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell Place. Robert
Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not
appear to take us to very fashionable regions."
We had, indeed, reached a questionable and
forbidding neighborhood. Long lines of dull
brick houses were only relieved by the coarse
glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses
at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied
villas each with a fronting of miniature garden,
and then again interminable lines of new staring
brick buildings,—the monster tentacles which
the giant city was throwing out into the country.
At last the cab drew up at the third house
in a new terrace. None of the other houses
were inhabited, and that at which we stopped
was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single
glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking,
however, the door was instantly thrown open
by a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban,
white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow
sash. There was something strangely incongruous
in this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace
door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.
"The Sahib awaits you," said he, and even
as he spoke there came a high piping voice
from some inner room. "Show them in to me,
khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight
in to me."
Chapter IV
The 
Story of the Bald-Headed Man
We followed the Indian down a sordid and common
passage, ill lit and worse furnished, until
he came to a door upon the right, which he
threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed
out upon us, and in the centre of the glare
there stood a small man with a very high head,
a bristle of red hair all round the fringe
of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot
out from among it like a mountain-peak from
fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as
he stood, and his features were in a perpetual
jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but never
for an instant in repose. Nature had given
him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line
of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove
feebly to conceal by constantly passing his
hand over the lower part of his face. In spite
of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression
of youth. In point of fact he had just turned
his thirtieth year.
"Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating,
in a thin, high voice. "Your servant, gentlemen.
Pray step into my little sanctum. A small
place, miss, but furnished to my own liking.
An oasis of art in the howling desert of South
London."
We were all astonished by the appearance of
the apartment into which he invited us. In
that sorry house it looked as out of place
as a diamond of the first water in a setting
of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtains
and tapestries draped the walls, looped back
here and there to expose some richly-mounted
painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was
of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that
the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into
a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown
athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern
luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon
a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion
of a silver dove was hung from an almost invisible
golden wire in the centre of the room. As
it burned it filled the air with a subtle
and aromatic odor.
"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man,
still jerking and smiling. "That is my name.
You are Miss Morstan, of course. And these
gentlemen—"
"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is
Dr. Watson."
"A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have
you your stethoscope? Might I ask you—would
you have the kindness? I have grave doubts
as to my mitral valve, if you would be so
very good. The aortic I may rely upon, but
I should value your opinion upon the mitral."
I listened to his heart, as requested, but
was unable to find anything amiss, save indeed
that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he
shivered from head to foot. "It appears to
be normal," I said. "You have no cause for
uneasiness."
"You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan,"
he remarked, airily. "I am a great sufferer,
and I have long had suspicions as to that
valve. I am delighted to hear that they are
unwarranted. Had your father, Miss Morstan,
refrained from throwing a strain upon his
heart, he might have been alive now."
I could have struck the man across the face,
so hot was I at this callous and off-hand
reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan
sat down, and her face grew white to the lips.
"I knew in my heart that he was dead," said
she.
"I can give you every information," said he,
"and, what is more, I can do you justice;
and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew
may say. I am so glad to have your friends
here, not only as an escort to you, but also
as witnesses to what I am about to do and
say. The three of us can show a bold front
to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no
outsiders,—no police or officials. We can
settle everything satisfactorily among ourselves,
without any interference. Nothing would annoy
Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity."
He sat down upon a low settee and blinked
at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue
eyes.
"For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you
may choose to say will go no further."
I nodded to show my agreement.
"That is well! That is well!" said he. "May
I offer you a glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan?
Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall
I open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that
you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to
the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco.
I am a little nervous, and I find my hookah
an invaluable sedative." He applied a taper
to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily
through the rose-water. We sat all three in
a semicircle, with our heads advanced, and
our chins upon our hands, while the strange,
jerky little fellow, with his high, shining
head, puffed uneasily in the centre.
"When I first determined to make this communication
to you," said he, "I might have given you
my address, but I feared that you might disregard
my request and bring unpleasant people with
you. I took the liberty, therefore, of making
an appointment in such a way that my man Williams
might be able to see you first. I have complete
confidence in his discretion, and he had orders,
if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no further
in the matter. You will excuse these precautions,
but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and I
might even say refined, tastes, and there
is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman.
I have a natural shrinking from all forms
of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact
with the rough crowd. I live, as you see,
with some little atmosphere of elegance around
me. I may call myself a patron of the arts.
It is my weakness. The landscape is a genuine
Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps
throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there
cannot be the least question about the Bouguereau.
I am partial to the modern French school."
"You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss
Morstan, "but I am here at your request to
learn something which you desire to tell me.
It is very late, and I should desire the interview
to be as short as possible."
"At the best it must take some time," he answered;
"for we shall certainly have to go to Norwood
and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall all
go and try if we can get the better of Brother
Bartholomew. He is very angry with me for
taking the course which has seemed right to
me. I had quite high words with him last night.
You cannot imagine what a terrible fellow
he is when he is angry."
"If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps
be as well to start at once," I ventured to
remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red.
"That would hardly do," he cried. "I don't
know what he would say if I brought you in
that sudden way. No, I must prepare you by
showing you how we all stand to each other.
In the first place, I must tell you that there
are several points in the story of which I
am myself ignorant. I can only lay the facts
before you as far as I know them myself.
"My father was, as you may have guessed, Major
John Sholto, once of the Indian army. He retired
some eleven years ago, and came to live at
Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had
prospered in India, and brought back with
him a considerable sum of money, a large collection
of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native
servants. With these advantages he bought
himself a house, and lived in great luxury.
My twin-brother Bartholomew and I were the
only children.
"I very well remember the sensation which
was caused by the disappearance of Captain
Morstan. We read the details in the papers,
and, knowing that he had been a friend of
our father's, we discussed the case freely
in his presence. He used to join in our speculations
as to what could have happened. Never for
an instant did we suspect that he had the
whole secret hidden in his own breast,—that
of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur
Morstan.
"We did know, however, that some mystery—some
positive danger—overhung our father. He
was very fearful of going out alone, and he
always employed two prize-fighters to act
as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams,
who drove you to-night, was one of them. He
was once light-weight champion of England.
Our father would never tell us what it was
he feared, but he had a most marked aversion
to men with wooden legs. On one occasion he
actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged
man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman
canvassing for orders. We had to pay a large
sum to hush the matter up. My brother and
I used to think this a mere whim of my father's,
but events have since led us to change our
opinion.
"Early in 1882 my father received a letter
from India which was a great shock to him.
He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when
he opened it, and from that day he sickened
to his death. What was in the letter we could
never discover, but I could see as he held
it that it was short and written in a scrawling
hand. He had suffered for years from an enlarged
spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and
towards the end of April we were informed
that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished
to make a last communication to us.
"When we entered his room he was propped up
with pillows and breathing heavily. He besought
us to lock the door and to come upon either
side of the bed. Then, grasping our hands,
he made a remarkable statement to us, in a
voice which was broken as much by emotion
as by pain. I shall try and give it to you
in his own very words.
"'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which
weighs upon my mind at this supreme moment.
It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan.
The cursed greed which has been my besetting
sin through life has withheld from her the
treasure, half at least of which should have
been hers. And yet I have made no use of it
myself,—so blind and foolish a thing is
avarice. The mere feeling of possession has
been so dear to me that I could not bear to
share it with another. See that chaplet dipped
with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even
that I could not bear to part with, although
I had got it out with the design of sending
it to her. You, my sons, will give her a fair
share of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing—not
even the chaplet—until I am gone. After
all, men have been as bad as this and have
recovered.
"'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued.
'He had suffered for years from a weak heart,
but he concealed it from every one. I alone
knew it. When in India, he and I, through
a remarkable chain of circumstances, came
into possession of a considerable treasure.
I brought it over to England, and on the night
of Morstan's arrival he came straight over
here to claim his share. He walked over from
the station, and was admitted by my faithful
Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and
I had a difference of opinion as to the division
of the treasure, and we came to heated words.
Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm
of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand
to his side, his face turned a dusky hue,
and he fell backwards, cutting his head against
the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stooped
over him I found, to my horror, that he was
dead.
"'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering
what I should do. My first impulse was, of
course, to call for assistance; but I could
not but recognize that there was every chance
that I would be accused of his murder. His
death at the moment of a quarrel, and the
gash in his head, would be black against me.
Again, an official inquiry could not be made
without bringing out some facts about the
treasure, which I was particularly anxious
to keep secret. He had told me that no soul
upon earth knew where he had gone. There seemed
to be no necessity why any soul ever should
know.
"'I was still pondering over the matter, when,
looking up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar,
in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the
door behind him. "Do not fear, Sahib," he
said. "No one need know that you have killed
him. Let us hide him away, and who is the
wiser?" "I did not kill him," said I. Lal
Chowdar shook his head and smiled. "I heard
it all, Sahib," said he. "I heard you quarrel,
and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed.
All are asleep in the house. Let us put him
away together." That was enough to decide
me. If my own servant could not believe my
innocence, how could I hope to make it good
before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box?
Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body that
night, and within a few days the London papers
were full of the mysterious disappearance
of Captain Morstan. You will see from what
I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter.
My fault lies in the fact that we concealed
not only the body, but also the treasure,
and that I have clung to Morstan's share as
well as to my own. I wish you, therefore,
to make restitution. Put your ears down to
my mouth. The treasure is hidden in—' At
this instant a horrible change came over his
expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw
dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I
can never forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's
sake keep him out!' We both stared round at
the window behind us upon which his gaze was
fixed. A face was looking in at us out of
the darkness. We could see the whitening of
the nose where it was pressed against the
glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with
wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated
malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards
the window, but the man was gone. When we
returned to my father his head had dropped
and his pulse had ceased to beat.
"We searched the garden that night, but found
no sign of the intruder, save that just under
the window a single footmark was visible in
the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we
might have thought that our imaginations had
conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon,
however, had another and a more striking proof
that there were secret agencies at work all
round us. The window of my father's room was
found open in the morning, his cupboards and
boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest
was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the
words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across
it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret
visitor may have been, we never knew. As far
as we can judge, none of my father's property
had been actually stolen, though everything
had been turned out. My brother and I naturally
associated this peculiar incident with the
fear which haunted my father during his life;
but it is still a complete mystery to us."
The little man stopped to relight his hookah
and puffed thoughtfully for a few moments.
We had all sat absorbed, listening to his
extraordinary narrative. At the short account
of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned
deadly white, and for a moment I feared that
she was about to faint. She rallied however,
on drinking a glass of water which I quietly
poured out for her from a Venetian carafe
upon the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned
back in his chair with an abstracted expression
and the lids drawn low over his glittering
eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but
think how on that very day he had complained
bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here
at least was a problem which would tax his
sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto
looked from one to the other of us with an
obvious pride at the effect which his story
had produced, and then continued between the
puffs of his overgrown pipe.
"My brother and I," said he, "were, as you
may imagine, much excited as to the treasure
which my father had spoken of. For weeks and
for months we dug and delved in every part
of the garden, without discovering its whereabouts.
It was maddening to think that the hiding-place
was on his very lips at the moment that he
died. We could judge the splendor of the missing
riches by the chaplet which he had taken out.
Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and
I had some little discussion. The pearls were
evidently of great value, and he was averse
to part with them, for, between friends, my
brother was himself a little inclined to my
father's fault. He thought, too, that if we
parted with the chaplet it might give rise
to gossip and finally bring us into trouble.
It was all that I could do to persuade him
to let me find out Miss Morstan's address
and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals,
so that at least she might never feel destitute."
"It was a kindly thought," said our companion,
earnestly. "It was extremely good of you."
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly.
"We were your trustees," he said. "That was
the view which I took of it, though Brother
Bartholomew could not altogether see it in
that light. We had plenty of money ourselves.
I desired no more. Besides, it would have
been such bad taste to have treated a young
lady in so scurvy a fashion. 'Le mauvais gout
mene au crime.' The French have a very neat
way of putting these things. Our difference
of opinion on this subject went so far that
I thought it best to set up rooms for myself:
so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old
khitmutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday,
however, I learn that an event of extreme
importance has occurred. The treasure has
been discovered. I instantly communicated
with Miss Morstan, and it only remains for
us to drive out to Norwood and demand our
share. I explained my views last night to
Brother Bartholomew: so we shall be expected,
if not welcome, visitors."
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching
on his luxurious settee. We all remained silent,
with our thoughts upon the new development
which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes
was the first to spring to his feet.
"You have done well, sir, from first to last,"
said he. "It is possible that we may be able
to make you some small return by throwing
some light upon that which is still dark to
you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now,
it is late, and we had best put the matter
through without delay."
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled
up the tube of his hookah, and produced from
behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoat
with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned
tightly up, in spite of the extreme closeness
of the night, and finished his attire by putting
on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets
which covered the ears, so that no part of
him was visible save his mobile and peaky
face. "My health is somewhat fragile," he
remarked, as he led the way down the passage.
"I am compelled to be a valetudinarian."
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme
was evidently prearranged, for the driver
started off at once at a rapid pace. Thaddeus
Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which
rose high above the rattle of the wheels.
"Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he.
"How do you think he found out where the treasure
was? He had come to the conclusion that it
was somewhere indoors: so he worked out all
the cubic space of the house, and made measurements
everywhere, so that not one inch should be
unaccounted for. Among other things, he found
that the height of the building was seventy-four
feet, but on adding together the heights of
all the separate rooms, and making every allowance
for the space between, which he ascertained
by borings, he could not bring the total to
more than seventy feet. There were four feet
unaccounted for. These could only be at the
top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore,
in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest
room, and there, sure enough, he came upon
another little garret above it, which had
been sealed up and was known to no one. In
the centre stood the treasure-chest, resting
upon two rafters. He lowered it through the
hole, and there it lies. He computes the value
of the jewels at not less than half a million
sterling."
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all
stared at one another open-eyed. Miss Morstan,
could we secure her rights, would change from
a needy governess to the richest heiress in
England. Surely it was the place of a loyal
friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed
to say that selfishness took me by the soul,
and that my heart turned as heavy as lead
within me. I stammered out some few halting
words of congratulation, and then sat downcast,
with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of
our new acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed
hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious
that he was pouring forth interminable trains
of symptoms, and imploring information as
to the composition and action of innumerable
quack nostrums, some of which he bore about
in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that
he may not remember any of the answers which
I gave him that night. Holmes declares that
he overheard me caution him against the great
danger of taking more than two drops of castor
oil, while I recommended strychnine in large
doses as a sedative. However that may be,
I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled
up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down
to open the door.
"This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,"
said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her
out.
Chapter V
The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached
this final stage of our night's adventures.
We had left the damp fog of the great city
behind us, and the night was fairly fine.
A warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy
clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half
a moon peeping occasionally through the rifts.
It was clear enough to see for some distance,
but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps
from the carriage to give us a better light
upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds,
and was girt round with a very high stone
wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow
iron-clamped door formed the only means of
entrance. On this our guide knocked with a
peculiar postman-like rat-tat.
"Who is there?" cried a gruff voice from within.
"It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock
by this time."
There was a grumbling sound and a clanking
and jarring of keys. The door swung heavily
back, and a short, deep-chested man stood
in the opening, with the yellow light of the
lantern shining upon his protruded face and
twinkling distrustful eyes.
"That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others?
I had no orders about them from the master."
"No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother
last night that I should bring some friends."
"He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr.
Thaddeus, and I have no orders. You know very
well that I must stick to regulations. I can
let you in, but your friends must just stop
where they are."
This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus
Sholto looked about him in a perplexed and
helpless manner. "This is too bad of you,
McMurdo!" he said. "If I guarantee them, that
is enough for you. There is the young lady,
too. She cannot wait on the public road at
this hour."
"Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter,
inexorably. "Folk may be friends o' yours,
and yet no friends o' the master's. He pays
me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll do.
I don't know none o' your friends."
"Oh, yes you do, McMurdo," cried Sherlock
Holmes, genially. "I don't think you can have
forgotten me. Don't you remember the amateur
who fought three rounds with you at Alison's
rooms on the night of your benefit four years
back?"
"Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" roared the prize-fighter.
"God's truth! how could I have mistook you?
If instead o' standin' there so quiet you
had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit
of yours under the jaw, I'd ha' known you
without a question. Ah, you're one that has
wasted your gifts, you have! You might have
aimed high, if you had joined the fancy."
"You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have
still one of the scientific professions open
to me," said Holmes, laughing. "Our friend
won't keep us out in the cold now, I am sure."
"In you come, sir, in you come,—you and
your friends," he answered. "Very sorry, Mr.
Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had
to be certain of your friends before I let
them in."
Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate
grounds to a huge clump of a house, square
and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where
a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered
in a garret window. The vast size of the building,
with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck
a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto
seemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered
and rattled in his hand.
"I cannot understand it," he said. "There
must be some mistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew
that we should be here, and yet there is no
light in his window. I do not know what to
make of it."
"Does he always guard the premises in this
way?" asked Holmes.
"Yes; he has followed my father's custom.
He was the favorite son, you know, and I sometimes
think that my father may have told him more
than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's
window up there where the moonshine strikes.
It is quite bright, but there is no light
from within, I think."
"None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint
of a light in that little window beside the
door."
"Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That
is where old Mrs. Bernstone sits. She can
tell us all about it. But perhaps you would
not mind waiting here for a minute or two,
for if we all go in together and she has no
word of our coming she may be alarmed. But
hush! what is that?"
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook
until the circles of light flickered and wavered
all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist,
and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining
our ears. From the great black house there
sounded through the silent night the saddest
and most pitiful of sounds,—the shrill,
broken whimpering of a frightened woman.
"It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She
is the only woman in the house. Wait here.
I shall be back in a moment." He hurried for
the door, and knocked in his peculiar way.
We could see a tall old woman admit him, and
sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.
"Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have
come! I am so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus,
sir!" We heard her reiterated rejoicings until
the door was closed and her voice died away
into a muffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes
swung it slowly round, and peered keenly at
the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps
which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and
I stood together, and her hand was in mine.
A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here
were we two who had never seen each other
before that day, between whom no word or even
look of affection had ever passed, and yet
now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively
sought for each other. I have marvelled at
it since, but at the time it seemed the most
natural thing that I should go out to her
so, and, as she has often told me, there was
in her also the instinct to turn to me for
comfort and protection. So we stood hand in
hand, like two children, and there was peace
in our hearts for all the dark things that
surrounded us.
"What a strange place!" she said, looking
round.
"It looks as though all the moles in England
had been let loose in it. I have seen something
of the sort on the side of a hill near Ballarat,
where the prospectors had been at work."
"And from the same cause," said Holmes. "These
are the traces of the treasure-seekers. You
must remember that they were six years looking
for it. No wonder that the grounds look like
a gravel-pit."
At that moment the door of the house burst
open, and Thaddeus Sholto came running out,
with his hands thrown forward and terror in
his eyes.
"There is something amiss with Bartholomew!"
he cried. "I am frightened! My nerves cannot
stand it." He was, indeed, half blubbering
with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping
out from the great Astrakhan collar had the
helpless appealing expression of a terrified
child.
"Come into the house," said Holmes, in his
crisp, firm way.
"Yes, do!" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. "I really
do not feel equal to giving directions."
We all followed him into the housekeeper's
room, which stood upon the left-hand side
of the passage. The old woman was pacing up
and down with a scared look and restless picking
fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared
to have a soothing effect upon her.
"God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried,
with an hysterical sob. "It does me good to
see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried
this day!"
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand,
and murmured some few words of kindly womanly
comfort which brought the color back into
the others bloodless cheeks.
"Master has locked himself in and will not
answer me," she explained. "All day I have
waited to hear from him, for he often likes
to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that
something was amiss, so I went up and peeped
through the key-hole. You must go up, Mr.
Thaddeus,—you must go up and look for yourself.
I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy
and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never
saw him with such a face on him as that."
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the
way, for Thaddeus Sholto's teeth were chattering
in his head. So shaken was he that I had to
pass my hand under his arm as we went up the
stairs, for his knees were trembling under
him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his
lens out of his pocket and carefully examined
marks which appeared to me to be mere shapeless
smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting
which served as a stair-carpet. He walked
slowly from step to step, holding the lamp,
and shooting keen glances to right and left.
Miss Morstan had remained behind with the
frightened housekeeper.
The third flight of stairs ended in a straight
passage of some length, with a great picture
in Indian tapestry upon the right of it and
three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced
along it in the same slow and methodical way,
while we kept close at his heels, with our
long black shadows streaming backwards down
the corridor. The third door was that which
we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving
any answer, and then tried to turn the handle
and force it open. It was locked on the inside,
however, and by a broad and powerful bolt,
as we could see when we set our lamp up against
it. The key being turned, however, the hole
was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent
down to it, and instantly rose again with
a sharp intaking of the breath.
"There is something devilish in this, Watson,"
said he, more moved than I had ever before
seen him. "What do you make of it?"
I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror.
Moonlight was streaming into the room, and
it was bright with a vague and shifty radiance.
Looking straight at me, and suspended, as
it were, in the air, for all beneath was in
shadow, there hung a face,—the very face
of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same
high, shining head, the same circular bristle
of red hair, the same bloodless countenance.
The features were set, however, in a horrible
smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in
that still and moonlit room was more jarring
to the nerves than any scowl or contortion.
So like was the face to that of our little
friend that I looked round at him to make
sure that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled
to mind that he had mentioned to us that his
brother and he were twins.
"This is terrible!" I said to Holmes. "What
is to be done?"
"The door must come down," he answered, and,
springing against it, he put all his weight
upon the lock. It creaked and groaned, but
did not yield. Together we flung ourselves
upon it once more, and this time it gave way
with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves
within Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical
laboratory. A double line of glass-stoppered
bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite
the door, and the table was littered over
with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts.
In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker
baskets. One of these appeared to leak or
to have been broken, for a stream of dark-colored
liquid had trickled out from it, and the air
was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like
odor. A set of steps stood at one side of
the room, in the midst of a litter of lath
and plaster, and above them there was an opening
in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass
through. At the foot of the steps a long coil
of rope was thrown carelessly together.
By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master
of the house was seated all in a heap, with
his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and
that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face.
He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been
dead many hours. It seemed to me that not
only his features but all his limbs were twisted
and turned in the most fantastic fashion.
By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar
instrument,—a brown, close-grained stick,
with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed
on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn
sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled
upon it. Holmes glanced at it, and then handed
it to me.
"You see," he said, with a significant raising
of the eyebrows.
In the light of the lantern I read, with a
thrill of horror, "The sign of the four."
"In God's name, what does it all mean?" I
asked.
"It means murder," said he, stooping over
the dead man. "Ah, I expected it. Look here!"
He pointed to what looked like a long, dark
thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.
"It looks like a thorn," said I.
"It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be
careful, for it is poisoned."
I took it up between my finger and thumb.
It came away from the skin so readily that
hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny
speck of blood showed where the puncture had
been.
"This is all an insoluble mystery to me,"
said I. "It grows darker instead of clearer."
"On the contrary," he answered, "it clears
every instant. I only require a few missing
links to have an entirely connected case."
We had almost forgotten our companion's presence
since we entered the chamber. He was still
standing in the door-way, the very picture
of terror, wringing his hands and moaning
to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out
into a sharp, querulous cry.
"The treasure is gone!" he said. "They have
robbed him of the treasure! There is the hole
through which we lowered it. I helped him
to do it! I was the last person who saw him!
I left him here last night, and I heard him
lock the door as I came down-stairs."
"What time was that?"
"It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and
the police will be called in, and I shall
be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh,
yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think
so, gentlemen? Surely you don't think that
it was I? Is it likely that I would have brought
you here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear!
I know that I shall go mad!" He jerked his
arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive
frenzy.
"You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto,"
said Holmes, kindly, putting his hand upon
his shoulder. "Take my advice, and drive down
to the station to report this matter to the
police. Offer to assist them in every way.
We shall wait here until your return."
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied
fashion, and we heard him stumbling down the
stairs in the dark.
Chapter VI
Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands,
"we have half an hour to ourselves. Let us
make good use of it. My case is, as I have
told you, almost complete; but we must not
err on the side of over-confidence. Simple
as the case seems now, there may be something
deeper underlying it."
"Simple!" I ejaculated.
"Surely," said he, with something of the air
of a clinical professor expounding to his
class. "Just sit in the corner there, that
your footprints may not complicate matters.
Now to work! In the first place, how did these
folk come, and how did they go? The door has
not been opened since last night. How of the
window?" He carried the lamp across to it,
muttering his observations aloud the while,
but addressing them to himself rather than
to me. "Window is snibbed on the inner side.
Framework is solid. No hinges at the side.
Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite
out of reach. Yet a man has mounted by the
window. It rained a little last night. Here
is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill.
And here is a circular muddy mark, and here
again upon the floor, and here again by the
table. See here, Watson! This is really a
very pretty demonstration."
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy
discs. "This is not a footmark," said I.
"It is something much more valuable to us.
It is the impression of a wooden stump. You
see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy
boot with the broad metal heel, and beside
it is the mark of the timber-toe."
"It is the wooden-legged man."
"Quite so. But there has been some one else,—a
very able and efficient ally. Could you scale
that wall, doctor?"
I looked out of the open window. The moon
still shone brightly on that angle of the
house. We were a good sixty feet from the
ground, and, look where I would, I could see
no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the
brick-work.
"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.
"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had
a friend up here who lowered you this good
stout rope which I see in the corner, securing
one end of it to this great hook in the wall.
Then, I think, if you were an active man,
You might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You
would depart, of course, in the same fashion,
and your ally would draw up the rope, untie
it from the hook, shut the window, snib it
on the inside, and get away in the way that
he originally came. As a minor point it may
be noted," he continued, fingering the rope,
"that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair
climber, was not a professional sailor. His
hands were far from horny. My lens discloses
more than one blood-mark, especially towards
the end of the rope, from which I gather that
he slipped down with such velocity that he
took the skin off his hand."
"This is all very well," said I, "but the
thing becomes more unintelligible than ever.
How about this mysterious ally? How came he
into the room?"
"Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively.
"There are features of interest about this
ally. He lifts the case from the regions of
the commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks
fresh ground in the annals of crime in this
country,—though parallel cases suggest themselves
from India, and, if my memory serves me, from
Senegambia."
"How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door
is locked, the window is inaccessible. Was
it through the chimney?"
"The grate is much too small," he answered.
"I had already considered that possibility."
"How then?" I persisted.
"You will not apply my precept," he said,
shaking his head. "How often have I said to
you that when you have eliminated the impossible
whatever remains, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must
be the truth? We know that he did not come
through the door, the window, or the chimney.
We also know that he could not have been concealed
in the room, as there is no concealment possible.
Whence, then, did he come?"
"He came through the hole in the roof," I
cried.
"Of course he did. He must have done so. If
you will have the kindness to hold the lamp
for me, we shall now extend our researches
to the room above,—the secret room in which
the treasure was found."
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter
with either hand, he swung himself up into
the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached
down for the lamp and held it while I followed
him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was
about ten feet one way and six the other.
The floor was formed by the rafters, with
thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in
walking one had to step from beam to beam.
The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently
the inner shell of the true roof of the house.
There was no furniture of any sort, and the
accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the
floor.
"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes,
putting his hand against the sloping wall.
"This is a trap-door which leads out on to
the roof. I can press it back, and here is
the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle.
This, then, is the way by which Number One
entered. Let us see if we can find any other
traces of his individuality."
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as
he did so I saw for the second time that night
a startled, surprised look come over his face.
For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin
was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered
thickly with the prints of a naked foot,—clear,
well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce
half the size of those of an ordinary man.
"Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has
done the horrid thing."
He had recovered his self-possession in an
instant. "I was staggered for the moment,"
he said, "but the thing is quite natural.
My memory failed me, or I should have been
able to foretell it. There is nothing more
to be learned here. Let us go down."
"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?"
I asked, eagerly, when we had regained the
lower room once more.
"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,"
said he, with a touch of impatience. "You
know my methods. Apply them, and it will be
instructive to compare results."
"I cannot conceive anything which will cover
the facts," I answered.
"It will be clear enough to you soon," he
said, in an off-hand way. "I think that there
is nothing else of importance here, but I
will look." He whipped out his lens and a
tape measure, and hurried about the room on
his knees, measuring, comparing, examining,
with his long thin nose only a few inches
from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming
and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift,
silent, and furtive were his movements, like
those of a trained blood-hound picking out
a scent, that I could not but think what a
terrible criminal he would have made had he
turned his energy and sagacity against the
law, instead of exerting them in its defense.
As he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself,
and finally he broke out into a loud crow
of delight.
"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought
to have very little trouble now. Number One
has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote.
You can see the outline of the edge of his
small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling
mess. The carboy has been cracked, You see,
and the stuff has leaked out."
"What then?" I asked.
"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he.
"I know a dog that would follow that scent
to the world's end. If a pack can track a
trailed herring across a shire, how far can
a specially-trained hound follow so pungent
a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the
rule of three. The answer should give us the—But
halloo! here are the accredited representatives
of the law."
Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices
were audible from below, and the hall door
shut with a loud crash.
"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put
your hand here on this poor fellow's arm,
and here on his leg. What do you feel?"
"The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.
"Quite so. They are in a state of extreme
contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor
mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the
face, this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,'
as the old writers called it, what conclusion
would it suggest to your mind?"
"Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid,"
I answered,—"some strychnine-like substance
which would produce tetanus."
"That was the idea which occurred to me the
instant I saw the drawn muscles of the face.
On getting into the room I at once looked
for the means by which the poison had entered
the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn
which had been driven or shot with no great
force into the scalp. You observe that the
part struck was that which would be turned
towards the hole in the ceiling if the man
were erect in his chair. Now examine the thorn."
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light
of the lantern. It was long, sharp, and black,
with a glazed look near the point as though
some gummy substance had dried upon it. The
blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off
with a knife.
"Is that an English thorn?" he asked.
"No, it certainly is not."
"With all these data you should be able to
draw some just inference. But here are the
regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat
a retreat."
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming
nearer sounded loudly on the passage, and
a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode
heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly
and plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling
eyes which looked keenly out from between
swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely
followed by an inspector in uniform, and by
the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.
"Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled,
husky voice. "Here's a pretty business! But
who are all these? Why, the house seems to
be as full as a rabbit-warren!"
"I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney
Jones," said Holmes, quietly.
"Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, the theorist. Remember you!
I'll never forget how you lectured us all
on causes and inferences and effects in the
Bishopgate jewel case. It's true you set us
on the right track; but you'll own now that
it was more by good luck than good guidance."
"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."
"Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to
own up. But what is all this? Bad business!
Bad business! Stern facts here,—no room
for theories. How lucky that I happened to
be out at Norwood over another case! I was
at the station when the message arrived. What
d'you think the man died of?"
"Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize
over," said Holmes, dryly.
"No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit
the nail on the head sometimes. Dear me! Door
locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a
million missing. How was the window?"
"Fastened; but there are steps on the sill."
"Well, well, if it was fastened the steps
could have nothing to do with the matter.
That's common sense. Man might have died in
a fit; but then the jewels are missing. Ha!
I have a theory. These flashes come upon me
at times.—Just step outside, sergeant, and
you, Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain.—What
do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto was,
on his own confession, with his brother last
night. The brother died in a fit, on which
Sholto walked off with the treasure. How's
that?"
"On which the dead man very considerately
got up and locked the door on the inside."
"Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common
sense to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto
WAS with his brother; there WAS a quarrel;
so much we know. The brother is dead and the
jewels are gone. So much also we know. No
one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus
left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus
is evidently in a most disturbed state of
mind. His appearance is—well, not attractive.
You see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus.
The net begins to close upon him."
"You are not quite in possession of the facts
yet," said Holmes. "This splinter of wood,
which I have every reason to believe to be
poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you
still see the mark; this card, inscribed as
you see it, was on the table; and beside it
lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument.
How does all that fit into your theory?"
"Confirms it in every respect," said the fat
detective, pompously. "House is full of Indian
curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and
if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may
as well have made murderous use of it as any
other man. The card is some hocus-pocus,—a
blind, as like as not. The only question is,
how did he depart? Ah, of course, here is
a hole in the roof." With great activity,
considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps
and squeezed through into the garret, and
immediately afterwards we heard his exulting
voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door.
"He can find something," remarked Holmes,
shrugging his shoulders. "He has occasional
glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pas des sots
si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!"
"You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing
down the steps again. "Facts are better than
mere theories, after all. My view of the case
is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating
with the roof, and it is partly open."
"It was I who opened it."
"Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He
seemed a little crestfallen at the discovery.
"Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our
gentleman got away. Inspector!"
"Yes, sir," from the passage.
"Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.—Mr. Sholto,
it is my duty to inform you that anything
which you may say will be used against you.
I arrest you in the queen's name as being
concerned in the death of your brother."
"There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the
poor little man, throwing out his hands, and
looking from one to the other of us.
"Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto,"
said Holmes. "I think that I can engage to
clear you of the charge."
"Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,—don't
promise too much!" snapped the detective.
"You may find it a harder matter than you
think."
"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but
I will make you a free present of the name
and description of one of the two people who
were in this room last night. His name, I
have every reason to believe, is Jonathan
Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small,
active, with his right leg off, and wearing
a wooden stump which is worn away upon the
inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed
sole, with an iron band round the heel. He
is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and
has been a convict. These few indications
may be of some assistance to you, coupled
with the fact that there is a good deal of
skin missing from the palm of his hand. The
other man—"
"Ah! the other man—?" asked Athelney Jones,
in a sneering voice, but impressed none the
less, as I could easily see, by the precision
of the other's manner.
"Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock
Holmes, turning upon his heel. "I hope before
very long to be able to introduce you to the
pair of them.—A word with you, Watson."
He led me out to the head of the stair. "This
unexpected occurrence," he said, "has caused
us rather to lose sight of the original purpose
of our journey."
"I have just been thinking so," I answered.
"It is not right that Miss Morstan should
remain in this stricken house."
"No. You must escort her home. She lives with
Mrs. Cecil Forrester, in Lower Camberwell:
so it is not very far. I will wait for you
here if you will drive out again. Or perhaps
you are too tired?"
"By no means. I don't think I could rest until
I know more of this fantastic business. I
have seen something of the rough side of life,
but I give you my word that this quick succession
of strange surprises to-night has shaken my
nerve completely. I should like, however,
to see the matter through with you, now that
I have got so far."
"Your presence will be of great service to
me," he answered. "We shall work the case
out independently, and leave this fellow Jones
to exult over any mare's-nest which he may
choose to construct. When you have dropped
Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3
Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge at
Lambeth. The third house on the right-hand
side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is the name.
You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit
in the window. Knock old Sherman up, and tell
him, with my compliments, that I want Toby
at once. You will bring Toby back in the cab
with you."
"A dog, I suppose."
"Yes,—a queer mongrel, with a most amazing
power of scent. I would rather have Toby's
help than that of the whole detective force
of London."
"I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is
one now. I ought to be back before three,
if I can get a fresh horse."
"And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can
learn from Mrs. Bernstone, and from the Indian
servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me, sleeps
in the next garret. Then I shall study the
great Jones's methods and listen to his not
too delicate sarcasms. 'Wir sind gewohnt das
die Menschen verhoehnen was sie nicht verstehen.'
Goethe is always pithy."
Chapter VII
The Episode of 
the Barrel
The police had brought a cab with them, and
in this I escorted Miss Morstan back to her
home. After the angelic fashion of women,
she had borne trouble with a calm face as
long as there was some one weaker than herself
to support, and I had found her bright and
placid by the side of the frightened housekeeper.
In the cab, however, she first turned faint,
and then burst into a passion of weeping,—so
sorely had she been tried by the adventures
of the night. She has told me since that she
thought me cold and distant upon that journey.
She little guessed the struggle within my
breast, or the effort of self-restraint which
held me back. My sympathies and my love went
out to her, even as my hand had in the garden.
I felt that years of the conventionalities
of life could not teach me to know her sweet,
brave nature as had this one day of strange
experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which
sealed the words of affection upon my lips.
She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind
and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage
to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse
still, she was rich. If Holmes's researches
were successful, she would be an heiress.
Was it fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay
surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy
which chance had brought about? Might she
not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker?
I could not bear to risk that such a thought
should cross her mind. This Agra treasure
intervened like an impassable barrier between
us.
It was nearly two o'clock when we reached
Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servants had retired
hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so
interested by the strange message which Miss
Morstan had received that she had sat up in
the hope of her return. She opened the door
herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and
it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm
stole round the other's waist and how motherly
was the voice in which she greeted her. She
was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an
honored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs.
Forrester earnestly begged me to step in and
tell her our adventures. I explained, however,
the importance of my errand, and promised
faithfully to call and report any progress
which we might make with the case. As we drove
away I stole a glance back, and I still seem
to see that little group on the step, the
two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened
door, the hall light shining through stained
glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods.
It was soothing to catch even that passing
glimpse of a tranquil English home in the
midst of the wild, dark business which had
absorbed us.
And the more I thought of what had happened,
the wilder and darker it grew. I reviewed
the whole extraordinary sequence of events
as I rattled on through the silent gas-lit
streets. There was the original problem: that
at least was pretty clear now. The death of
Captain Morstan, the sending of the pearls,
the advertisement, the letter,—we had had
light upon all those events. They had only
led us, however, to a deeper and far more
tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious
plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange
scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery
of the treasure immediately followed by the
murder of the discoverer, the very singular
accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps,
the remarkable weapons, the words upon the
card, corresponding with those upon Captain
Morstan's chart,—here was indeed a labyrinth
in which a man less singularly endowed than
my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever
finding the clue.
Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied
brick houses in the lower quarter of Lambeth.
I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before
I could make my impression. At last, however,
there was the glint of a candle behind the
blind, and a face looked out at the upper
window.
"Go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face.
"If you kick up any more row I'll open the
kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon
you."
"If you'll let one out it's just what I have
come for," said I.
"Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious,
I have a wiper in the bag, an' I'll drop it
on your 'ead if you don't hook it."
"But I want a dog," I cried.
"I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman.
"Now stand clear, for when I say 'three,'
down goes the wiper."
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes—" I began, but the
words had a most magical effect, for the window
instantly slammed down, and within a minute
the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman
was a lanky, lean old man, with stooping shoulders,
a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses.
"A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome,"
said he. "Step in, sir. Keep clear of the
badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty,
would you take a nip at the gentleman?" This
to a stoat which thrust its wicked head and
red eyes between the bars of its cage. "Don't
mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It
hain't got no fangs, so I gives it the run
o' the room, for it keeps the beetles down.
You must not mind my bein' just a little short
wi' you at first, for I'm guyed at by the
children, and there's many a one just comes
down this lane to knock me up. What was it
that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"
"He wanted a dog of yours."
"Ah! that would be Toby."
"Yes, Toby was the name."
"Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here." He
moved slowly forward with his candle among
the queer animal family which he had gathered
round him. In the uncertain, shadowy light
I could see dimly that there were glancing,
glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every
cranny and corner. Even the rafters above
our heads were lined by solemn fowls, who
lazily shifted their weight from one leg to
the other as our voices disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared
creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown-and-white
in color, with a very clumsy waddling gait.
It accepted after some hesitation a lump of
sugar which the old naturalist handed to me,
and, having thus sealed an alliance, it followed
me to the cab, and made no difficulties about
accompanying me. It had just struck three
on the Palace clock when I found myself back
once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter
McMurdo had, I found, been arrested as an
accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had
been marched off to the station. Two constables
guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed
me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the
detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the door-step, with
his hands in his pockets, smoking his pipe.
"Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog,
then! Atheney Jones has gone. We have had
an immense display of energy since you left.
He has arrested not only friend Thaddeus,
but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the
Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves,
but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog
here, and come up."
We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended
the stairs. The room was as he had left it,
save that a sheet had been draped over the
central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant
reclined in the corner.
"Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said
my companion. "Now tie this bit of card round
my neck, so as to hang it in front of me.
Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots and
stockings.—Just you carry them down with
you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing.
And dip my handkerchief into the creasote.
That will do. Now come up into the garret
with me for a moment."
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned
his light once more upon the footsteps in
the dust.
"I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks,"
he said. "Do you observe anything noteworthy
about them?"
"They belong," I said, "to a child or a small
woman."
"Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing
else?"
"They appear to be much as other footmarks."
"Not at all. Look here! This is the print
of a right foot in the dust. Now I make one
with my naked foot beside it. What is the
chief difference?"
"Your toes are all cramped together. The other
print has each toe distinctly divided."
"Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in
mind. Now, would you kindly step over to that
flap-window and smell the edge of the wood-work?
I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief
in my hand."
I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious
of a strong tarry smell.
"That is where he put his foot in getting
out. If YOU can trace him, I should think
that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run
down-stairs, loose the dog, and look out for
Blondin."
By the time that I got out into the grounds
Sherlock Holmes was on the roof, and I could
see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling
very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight
of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he
presently reappeared, and then vanished once
more upon the opposite side. When I made my
way round there I found him seated at one
of the corner eaves.
"That you, Watson?" he cried.
"Yes."
"This is the place. What is that black thing
down there?"
"A water-barrel."
"Top on it?"
"Yes."
"No sign of a ladder?"
"No."
"Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck
place. I ought to be able to come down where
he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty
firm. Here goes, anyhow."
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern
began to come steadily down the side of the
wall. Then with a light spring he came on
to the barrel, and from there to the earth.
"It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing
on his stockings and boots. "Tiles were loosened
the whole way along, and in his hurry he had
dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as
you doctors express it."
The object which he held up to me was a small
pocket or pouch woven out of colored grasses
and with a few tawdry beads strung round it.
In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case.
Inside were half a dozen spines of dark wood,
sharp at one end and rounded at the other,
like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.
"They are hellish things," said he. "Look
out that you don't prick yourself. I'm delighted
to have them, for the chances are that they
are all he has. There is the less fear of
you or me finding one in our skin before long.
I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself.
Are you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?"
"Certainly," I answered.
"Your leg will stand it?"
"Oh, yes."
"Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell
it, Toby, smell it!" He pushed the creasote
handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the
creature stood with its fluffy legs separated,
and with a most comical cock to its head,
like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of
a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief
to a distance, fastened a stout cord to the
mongrel's collar, and led him to the foot
of the water-barrel. The creature instantly
broke into a succession of high, tremulous
yelps, and, with his nose on the ground, and
his tail in the air, pattered off upon the
trail at a pace which strained his leash and
kept us at the top of our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and
we could now see some distance in the cold
gray light. The square, massive house, with
its black, empty windows and high, bare walls,
towered up, sad and forlorn, behind us. Our
course led right across the grounds, in and
out among the trenches and pits with which
they were scarred and intersected. The whole
place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown
shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which
harmonized with the black tragedy which hung
over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along,
whining eagerly, underneath its shadow, and
stopped finally in a corner screened by a
young beech. Where the two walls joined, several
bricks had been loosened, and the crevices
left were worn down and rounded upon the lower
side, as though they had frequently been used
as a ladder. Holmes clambered up, and, taking
the dog from me, he dropped it over upon the
other side.
"There's the print of wooden-leg's hand,"
he remarked, as I mounted up beside him. "You
see the slight smudge of blood upon the white
plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we
have had no very heavy rain since yesterday!
The scent will lie upon the road in spite
of their eight-and-twenty hours' start."
I confess that I had my doubts myself when
I reflected upon the great traffic which had
passed along the London road in the interval.
My fears were soon appeased, however. Toby
never hesitated or swerved, but waddled on
in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly,
the pungent smell of the creasote rose high
above all other contending scents.
"Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend
for my success in this case upon the mere
chance of one of these fellows having put
his foot in the chemical. I have knowledge
now which would enable me to trace them in
many different ways. This, however, is the
readiest and, since fortune has put it into
our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected
it. It has, however, prevented the case from
becoming the pretty little intellectual problem
which it at one time promised to be. There
might have been some credit to be gained out
of it, but for this too palpable clue."
"There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I
assure you, Holmes, that I marvel at the means
by which you obtain your results in this case,
even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope
Murder. The thing seems to me to be deeper
and more inexplicable. How, for example, could
you describe with such confidence the wooden-legged
man?"
"Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself.
I don't wish to be theatrical. It is all patent
and above-board. Two officers who are in command
of a convict-guard learn an important secret
as to buried treasure. A map is drawn for
them by an Englishman named Jonathan Small.
You remember that we saw the name upon the
chart in Captain Morstan's possession. He
had signed it in behalf of himself and his
associates,—the sign of the four, as he
somewhat dramatically called it. Aided by
this chart, the officers—or one of them—gets
the treasure and brings it to England, leaving,
we will suppose, some condition under which
he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why
did not Jonathan Small get the treasure himself?
The answer is obvious. The chart is dated
at a time when Morstan was brought into close
association with convicts. Jonathan Small
did not get the treasure because he and his
associates were themselves convicts and could
not get away."
"But that is mere speculation," said I.
"It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis
which covers the facts. Let us see how it
fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto remains
at peace for some years, happy in the possession
of his treasure. Then he receives a letter
from India which gives him a great fright.
What was that?"
"A letter to say that the men whom he had
wronged had been set free."
"Or had escaped. That is much more likely,
for he would have known what their term of
imprisonment was. It would not have been a
surprise to him. What does he do then? He
guards himself against a wooden-legged man,—a
white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white
tradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol
at him. Now, only one white man's name is
on the chart. The others are Hindoos or Mohammedans.
There is no other white man. Therefore we
may say with confidence that the wooden-legged
man is identical with Jonathan Small. Does
the reasoning strike you as being faulty?"
"No: it is clear and concise."
"Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place
of Jonathan Small. Let us look at it from
his point of view. He comes to England with
the double idea of regaining what he would
consider to be his rights and of having his
revenge upon the man who had wronged him.
He found out where Sholto lived, and very
possibly he established communications with
some one inside the house. There is this butler,
Lal Rao, whom we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone
gives him far from a good character. Small
could not find out, however, where the treasure
was hid, for no one ever knew, save the major
and one faithful servant who had died. Suddenly
Small learns that the major is on his death-bed.
In a frenzy lest the secret of the treasure
die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the
guards, makes his way to the dying man's window,
and is only deterred from entering by the
presence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however,
against the dead man, he enters the room that
night, searches his private papers in the
hope of discovering some memorandum relating
to the treasure, and finally leaves a momento
of his visit in the short inscription upon
the card. He had doubtless planned beforehand
that should he slay the major he would leave
some such record upon the body as a sign that
it was not a common murder, but, from the
point of view of the four associates, something
in the nature of an act of justice. Whimsical
and bizarre conceits of this kind are common
enough in the annals of crime, and usually
afford valuable indications as to the criminal.
Do you follow all this?"
"Very clearly."
"Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could
only continue to keep a secret watch upon
the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly
he leaves England and only comes back at intervals.
Then comes the discovery of the garret, and
he is instantly informed of it. We again trace
the presence of some confederate in the household.
Jonathan, with his wooden leg, is utterly
unable to reach the lofty room of Bartholomew
Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather
curious associate, who gets over this difficulty,
but dips his naked foot into creasote, whence
comes Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay
officer with a damaged tendo Achillis."
"But it was the associate, and not Jonathan,
who committed the crime."
"Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust,
to judge by the way he stamped about when
he got into the room. He bore no grudge against
Bartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred
if he could have been simply bound and gagged.
He did not wish to put his head in a halter.
There was no help for it, however: the savage
instincts of his companion had broken out,
and the poison had done its work: so Jonathan
Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box
to the ground, and followed it himself. That
was the train of events as far as I can decipher
them. Of course as to his personal appearance
he must be middle-aged, and must be sunburned
after serving his time in such an oven as
the Andamans. His height is readily calculated
from the length of his stride, and we know
that he was bearded. His hairiness was the
one point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus
Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't
know that there is anything else."
"The associate?"
"Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that.
But you will know all about it soon enough.
How sweet the morning air is! See how that
one little cloud floats like a pink feather
from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim
of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank.
It shines on a good many folk, but on none,
I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand than
you and I. How small we feel with our petty
ambitions and strivings in the presence of
the great elemental forces of nature! Are
you well up in your Jean Paul?"
"Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle."
"That was like following the brook to the
parent lake. He makes one curious but profound
remark. It is that the chief proof of man's
real greatness lies in his perception of his
own smallness. It argues, you see, a power
of comparison and of appreciation which is
in itself a proof of nobility. There is much
food for thought in Richter. You have not
a pistol, have you?"
"I have my stick."
"It is just possible that we may need something
of the sort if we get to their lair. Jonathan
I shall leave to you, but if the other turns
nasty I shall shoot him dead." He took out
his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded
two of the chambers, he put it back into the
right-hand pocket of his jacket.
We had during this time been following the
guidance of Toby down the half-rural villa-lined
roads which lead to the metropolis. Now, however,
we were beginning to come among continuous
streets, where laborers and dockmen were already
astir, and slatternly women were taking down
shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped
corner public houses business was just beginning,
and rough-looking men were emerging, rubbing
their sleeves across their beards after their
morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and
stared wonderingly at us as we passed, but
our inimitable Toby looked neither to the
right nor to the left, but trotted onwards
with his nose to the ground and an occasional
eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell,
and now found ourselves in Kennington Lane,
having borne away through the side-streets
to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued
seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road,
with the idea probably of escaping observation.
They had never kept to the main road if a
parallel side-street would serve their turn.
At the foot of Kennington Lane they had edged
away to the left through Bond Street and Miles
Street. Where the latter street turns into
Knight's Place, Toby ceased to advance, but
began to run backwards and forwards with one
ear cocked and the other drooping, the very
picture of canine indecision. Then he waddled
round in circles, looking up to us from time
to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his
embarrassment.
"What the deuce is the matter with the dog?"
growled Holmes. "They surely would not take
a cab, or go off in a balloon."
"Perhaps they stood here for some time," I
suggested.
"Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said
my companion, in a tone of relief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round
again he suddenly made up his mind, and darted
away with an energy and determination such
as he had not yet shown. The scent appeared
to be much hotter than before, for he had
not even to put his nose on the ground, but
tugged at his leash and tried to break into
a run. I cold see by the gleam in Holmes's
eyes that he thought we were nearing the end
of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we
came to Broderick and Nelson's large timber-yard,
just past the White Eagle tavern. Here the
dog, frantic with excitement, turned down
through the side-gate into the enclosure,
where the sawyers were already at work. On
the dog raced through sawdust and shavings,
down an alley, round a passage, between two
wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant
yelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still
stood upon the hand-trolley on which it had
been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking
eyes, Toby stood upon the cask, looking from
one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation.
The staves of the barrel and the wheels of
the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid,
and the whole air was heavy with the smell
of creasote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each
other, and then burst simultaneously into
an uncontrollable fit 
of laughter.
Chapter VIII
The Baker Street Irregulars
"What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character
for infallibility."
"He acted according to his lights," said Holmes,
lifting him down from the barrel and walking
him out of the timber-yard. "If you consider
how much creasote is carted about London in
one day, it is no great wonder that our trail
should have been crossed. It is much used
now, especially for the seasoning of wood.
Poor Toby is not to blame."
"We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."
"Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance
to go. Evidently what puzzled the dog at the
corner of Knight's Place was that there were
two different trails running in opposite directions.
We took the wrong one. It only remains to
follow the other."
There was no difficulty about this. On leading
Toby to the place where he had committed his
fault, he cast about in a wide circle and
finally dashed off in a fresh direction.
"We must take care that he does not now bring
us to the place where the creasote-barrel
came from," I observed.
"I had thought of that. But you notice that
he keeps on the pavement, whereas the barrel
passed down the roadway. No, we are on the
true scent now."
It tended down towards the river-side, running
through Belmont Place and Prince's Street.
At the end of Broad Street it ran right down
to the water's edge, where there was a small
wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge
of this, and there stood whining, looking
out on the dark current beyond.
"We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have
taken to a boat here." Several small punts
and skiffs were lying about in the water and
on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round
to each in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly,
he made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small
brick house, with a wooden placard slung out
through the second window. "Mordecai Smith"
was printed across it in large letters, and,
underneath, "Boats to hire by the hour or
day." A second inscription above the door
informed us that a steam launch was kept,—a
statement which was confirmed by a great pile
of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked
slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous
expression.
"This looks bad," said he. "These fellows
are sharper than I expected. They seem to
have covered their tracks. There has, I fear,
been preconcerted management here."
He was approaching the door of the house,
when it opened, and a little, curly-headed
lad of six came running out, followed by a
stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge
in her hand.
"You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted.
"Come back, you young imp; for if your father
comes home and finds you like that, he'll
let us hear of it."
"Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically.
"What a rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack,
is there anything you would like?"
The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like
a shillin'," said he.
"Nothing you would like better?"
"I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy
answered, after some thought.
"Here you are, then! Catch!—A fine child,
Mrs. Smith!"
"Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward.
He gets a'most too much for me to manage,
'specially when my man is away days at a time."
"Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed
voice. "I am sorry for that, for I wanted
to speak to Mr. Smith."
"He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir,
and, truth to tell, I am beginnin' to feel
frightened about him. But if it was about
a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well."
"I wanted to hire his steam launch."
"Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch
that he has gone. That's what puzzles me;
for I know there ain't more coals in her than
would take her to about Woolwich and back.
If he'd been away in the barge I'd ha' thought
nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him
as far as Gravesend, and then if there was
much doin' there he might ha' stayed over.
But what good is a steam launch without coals?"
"He might have bought some at a wharf down
the river."
"He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many
a time I've heard him call out at the prices
they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I
don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his
ugly face and outlandish talk. What did he
want always knockin' about here for?"
"A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland
surprise.
"Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's
called more'n once for my old man. It was
him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's
more, my man knew he was comin', for he had
steam up in the launch. I tell you straight,
sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it."
"But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging
his shoulders, "You are frightening yourself
about nothing. How could you possibly tell
that it was the wooden-legged man who came
in the night? I don't quite understand how
you can be so sure."
"His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is
kind o' thick and foggy. He tapped at the
winder,—about three it would be. 'Show a
leg, matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.'
My old man woke up Jim,—that's my eldest,—and
away they went, without so much as a word
to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin'
on the stones."
"And was this wooden-legged man alone?"
"Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear
no one else."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam
launch, and I have heard good reports of the—Let
me see, what is her name?"
"The Aurora, sir."
"Ah! She's not that old green launch with
a yellow line, very broad in the beam?"
"No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing
as any on the river. She's been fresh painted,
black with two red streaks."
"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from
Mr. Smith. I am going down the river; and
if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall
let him know that you are uneasy. A black
funnel, you say?"
"No, sir. Black with a white band."
"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were
black. Good-morning, Mrs. Smith.—There is
a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall
take it and cross the river.
"The main thing with people of that sort,"
said Holmes, as we sat in the sheets of the
wherry, "is never to let them think that their
information can be of the slightest importance
to you. If you do, they will instantly shut
up like an oyster. If you listen to them under
protest, as it were, you are very likely to
get what you want."
"Our course now seems pretty clear," said
I.
"What would you do, then?"
"I would engage a launch and go down the river
on the track of the Aurora."
"My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task.
She may have touched at any wharf on either
side of the stream between here and Greenwich.
Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth
of landing-places for miles. It would take
you days and days to exhaust them, if you
set about it alone."
"Employ the police, then."
"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones
in at the last moment. He is not a bad fellow,
and I should not like to do anything which
would injure him professionally. But I have
a fancy for working it out myself, now that
we have gone so far."
"Could we advertise, then, asking for information
from wharfingers?"
"Worse and worse! Our men would know that
the chase was hot at their heels, and they
would be off out of the country. As it is,
they are likely enough to leave, but as long
as they think they are perfectly safe they
will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be
of use to us there, for his view of the case
is sure to push itself into the daily press,
and the runaways will think that every one
is off on the wrong scent."
"What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we
landed near Millbank Penitentiary.
"Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast,
and get an hour's sleep. It is quite on the
cards that we may be afoot to-night again.
Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will
keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet."
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office,
and Holmes despatched his wire. "Whom do you
think that is to?" he asked, as we resumed
our journey.
"I am sure I don't know."
"You remember the Baker Street division of
the detective police force whom I employed
in the Jefferson Hope case?"
"Well," said I, laughing.
"This is just the case where they might be
invaluable. If they fail, I have other resources;
but I shall try them first. That wire was
to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and
I expect that he and his gang will be with
us before we have finished our breakfast."
It was between eight and nine o'clock now,
and I was conscious of a strong reaction after
the successive excitements of the night. I
was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued
in body. I had not the professional enthusiasm
which carried my companion on, nor could I
look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual
problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew
Sholto went, I had heard little good of him,
and could feel no intense antipathy to his
murderers. The treasure, however, was a different
matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully
to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance
of recovering it I was ready to devote my
life to the one object. True, if I found it
it would probably put her forever beyond my
reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish
love which would be influenced by such a thought
as that. If Holmes could work to find the
criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason
to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change
freshened me up wonderfully. When I came down
to our room I found the breakfast laid and
Homes pouring out the coffee.
"Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing
to an open newspaper. "The energetic Jones
and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it
up between them. But you have had enough of
the case. Better have your ham and eggs first."
I took the paper from him and read the short
notice, which was headed "Mysterious Business
at Upper Norwood."
"About twelve o'clock last night," said the
Standard, "Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry
Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his
room under circumstances which point to foul
play. As far as we can learn, no actual traces
of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person,
but a valuable collection of Indian gems which
the deceased gentleman had inherited from
his father has been carried off. The discovery
was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and
Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased.
By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney
Jones, the well-known member of the detective
police force, happened to be at the Norwood
Police Station, and was on the ground within
half an hour of the first alarm. His trained
and experienced faculties were at once directed
towards the detection of the criminals, with
the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus
Sholto, has already been arrested, together
with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian
butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper,
named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the
thief or thieves were well acquainted with
the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical
knowledge and his powers of minute observation
have enabled him to prove conclusively that
the miscreants could not have entered by the
door or by the window, but must have made
their way across the roof of the building,
and so through a trap-door into a room which
communicated with that in which the body was
found. This fact, which has been very clearly
made out, proves conclusively that it was
no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and
energetic action of the officers of the law
shows the great advantage of the presence
on such occasions of a single vigorous and
masterful mind. We cannot but think that it
supplies an argument to those who would wish
to see our detectives more decentralized,
and so brought into closer and more effective
touch with the cases which it is their duty
to investigate."
"Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning
over his coffee-cup. "What do you think of
it?"
"I think that we have had a close shave ourselves
of being arrested for the crime."
"So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety
now, if he should happen to have another of
his attacks of energy."
At this moment there was a loud ring at the
bell, and I could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady,
raising her voice in a wail of expostulation
and dismay.
"By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising,
"I believe that they are really after us."
"No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is
the unofficial force,—the Baker Street irregulars."
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering
of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of
high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and
ragged little street-Arabs. There was some
show of discipline among them, despite their
tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew
up in line and stood facing us with expectant
faces. One of their number, taller and older
than the others, stood forward with an air
of lounging superiority which was very funny
in such a disreputable little scarecrow.
"Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought
'em on sharp. Three bob and a tanner for tickets."
"Here you are," said Holmes, producing some
silver. "In future they can report to you,
Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the
house invaded in this way. However, it is
just as well that you should all hear the
instructions. I want to find the whereabouts
of a steam launch called the Aurora, owner
Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks,
funnel black with a white band. She is down
the river somewhere. I want one boy to be
at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage opposite
Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You
must divide it out among yourselves, and do
both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment
you have news. Is that all clear?"
"Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins.
"The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the
boy who finds the boat. Here's a day in advance.
Now off you go!" He handed them a shilling
each, and away they buzzed down the stairs,
and I saw them a moment later streaming down
the street.
"If the launch is above water they will find
her," said Holmes, as he rose from the table
and lit his pipe. "They can go everywhere,
see everything, overhear every one. I expect
to hear before evening that they have spotted
her. In the mean while, we can do nothing
but await results. We cannot pick up the broken
trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr.
Mordecai Smith."
"Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say.
Are you going to bed, Holmes?"
"No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution.
I never remember feeling tired by work, though
idleness exhausts me completely. I am going
to smoke and to think over this queer business
to which my fair client has introduced us.
If ever man had an easy task, this of ours
ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so
common, but the other man must, I should think,
be absolutely unique."
"That other man again!"
"I have no wish to make a mystery of him,—to
you, anyway. But you must have formed your
own opinion. Now, do consider the data. Diminutive
footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked
feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility,
small poisoned darts. What do you make of
all this?"
"A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those
Indians who were the associates of Jonathan
Small."
"Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw
signs of strange weapons I was inclined to
think so; but the remarkable character of
the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views.
Some of the inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula
are small men, but none could have left such
marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long
and thin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan
has the great toe well separated from the
others, because the thong is commonly passed
between. These little darts, too, could only
be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe.
Now, then, where are we to find our savage?"
"South American," I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up, and took down a
bulky volume from the shelf. "This is the
first volume of a gazetteer which is now being
published. It may be looked upon as the very
latest authority. What have we here? 'Andaman
Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of
Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum!
What's all this? Moist climate, coral reefs,
sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland
Island, cottonwoods—Ah, here we are. 'The
aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps
claim the distinction of being the smallest
race upon this earth, though some anthropologists
prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians
of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The
average height is rather below four feet,
although many full-grown adults may be found
who are very much smaller than this. They
are a fierce, morose, and intractable people,
though capable of forming most devoted friendships
when their confidence has once been gained.'
Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen to this.
'They are naturally hideous, having large,
misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distorted
features. Their feet and hands, however, are
remarkably small. So intractable and fierce
are they that all the efforts of the British
official have failed to win them over in any
degree. They have always been a terror to
shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors
with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting
them with their poisoned arrows. These massacres
are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.'
Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow
had been left to his own unaided devices this
affair might have taken an even more ghastly
turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan
Small would give a good deal not to have employed
him."
"But how came he to have so singular a companion?"
"Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since,
however, we had already determined that Small
had come from the Andamans, it is not so very
wonderful that this islander should be with
him. No doubt we shall know all about it in
time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly
done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see
if I can put you to sleep."
He took up his violin from the corner, and
as I stretched myself out he began to play
some low, dreamy, melodious air,—his own,
no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for
improvisation. I have a vague remembrance
of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and
the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed
to be floated peacefully away upon a soft
sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-land,
with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking
down upon me.
Chapter IX
A Break in the Chain
It was late in the afternoon before I woke,
strengthened and refreshed. Sherlock Holmes
still sat exactly as I had left him, save
that he had laid aside his violin and was
deep in a book. He looked across at me, as
I stirred, and I noticed that his face was
dark and troubled.
"You have slept soundly," he said. "I feared
that our talk would wake you."
"I heard nothing," I answered. "Have you had
fresh news, then?"
"Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised
and disappointed. I expected something definite
by this time. Wiggins has just been up to
report. He says that no trace can be found
of the launch. It is a provoking check, for
every hour is of importance."
"Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now,
and quite ready for another night's outing."
"No, we can do nothing. We can only wait.
If we go ourselves, the message might come
in our absence, and delay be caused. You can
do what you will, but I must remain on guard."
"Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call
upon Mrs. Cecil Forrester. She asked me to,
yesterday."
"On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?" asked Holmes, with
the twinkle of a smile in his eyes.
"Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were
anxious to hear what happened."
"I would not tell them too much," said Holmes.
"Women are never to be entirely trusted,—not
the best of them."
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious
sentiment. "I shall be back in an hour or
two," I remarked.
"All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you
are crossing the river you may as well return
Toby, for I don't think it is at all likely
that we shall have any use for him now."
I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him,
together with a half-sovereign, at the old
naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell
I found Miss Morstan a little weary after
her night's adventures, but very eager to
hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full
of curiosity. I told them all that we had
done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful
parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke
of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of the
exact manner and method of it. With all my
omissions, however, there was enough to startle
and amaze them.
"It is a romance!" cried Mrs. Forrester. "An
injured lady, half a million in treasure,
a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian.
They take the place of the conventional dragon
or wicked earl."
"And two knight-errants to the rescue," added
Miss Morstan, with a bright glance at me.
"Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the
issue of this search. I don't think that you
are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what
it must be to be so rich, and to have the
world at your feet!"
It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart
to notice that she showed no sign of elation
at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave
a toss of her proud head, as though the matter
were one in which she took small interest.
"It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,"
she said. "Nothing else is of any consequence;
but I think that he has behaved most kindly
and honorably throughout. It is our duty to
clear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge."
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and
quite dark by the time I reached home. My
companion's book and pipe lay by his chair,
but he had disappeared. I looked about in
the hope of seeing a note, but there was none.
"I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone
out," I said to Mrs. Hudson as she came up
to lower the blinds.
"No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do
you know, sir," sinking her voice into an
impressive whisper, "I am afraid for his health?"
"Why so, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was
gone he walked and he walked, up and down,
and up and down, until I was weary of the
sound of his footstep. Then I heard him talking
to himself and muttering, and every time the
bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with
'What is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has
slammed off to his room, but I can hear him
walking away the same as ever. I hope he's
not going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say
something to him about cooling medicine, but
he turned on me, sir, with such a look that
I don't know how ever I got out of the room."
"I don't think that you have any cause to
be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson," I answered. "I have
seen him like this before. He has some small
matter upon his mind which makes him restless."
I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady,
but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through
the long night I still from time to time heard
the dull sound of his tread, and knew how
his keen spirit was chafing against this involuntary
inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard,
with a little fleck of feverish color upon
either cheek.
"You are knocking yourself up, old man," I
remarked. "I heard you marching about in the
night."
"No, I could not sleep," he answered. "This
infernal problem is consuming me. It is too
much to be balked by so petty an obstacle,
when all else had been overcome. I know the
men, the launch, everything; and yet I can
get no news. I have set other agencies at
work, and used every means at my disposal.
The whole river has been searched on either
side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith
heard of her husband. I shall come to the
conclusion soon that they have scuttled the
craft. But there are objections to that."
"Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong
scent."
"No, I think that may be dismissed. I had
inquiries made, and there is a launch of that
description."
"Could it have gone up the river?"
"I have considered that possibility too, and
there is a search-party who will work up as
far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day,
I shall start off myself to-morrow, and go
for the men rather than the boat. But surely,
surely, we shall hear something."
We did not, however. Not a word came to us
either from Wiggins or from the other agencies.
There were articles in most of the papers
upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared
to be rather hostile to the unfortunate Thaddeus
Sholto. No fresh details were to be found,
however, in any of them, save that an inquest
was to be held upon the following day. I walked
over to Camberwell in the evening to report
our ill success to the ladies, and on my return
I found Holmes dejected and somewhat morose.
He would hardly reply to my questions, and
busied himself all evening in an abstruse
chemical analysis which involved much heating
of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending
at last in a smell which fairly drove me out
of the apartment. Up to the small hours of
the morning I could hear the clinking of his
test-tubes which told me that he was still
engaged in his malodorous experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start, and
was surprised to find him standing by my bedside,
clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket,
and a coarse red scarf round his neck.
"I am off down the river, Watson," said he.
"I have been turning it over in my mind, and
I can see only one way out of it. It is worth
trying, at all events."
"Surely I can come with you, then?" said I.
"No; you can be much more useful if you will
remain here as my representative. I am loath
to go, for it is quite on the cards that some
message may come during the day, though Wiggins
was despondent about it last night. I want
you to open all notes and telegrams, and to
act on your own judgment if any news should
come. Can I rely upon you?"
"Most certainly."
"I am afraid that you will not be able to
wire to me, for I can hardly tell yet where
I may find myself. If I am in luck, however,
I may not be gone so very long. I shall have
news of some sort or other before I get back."
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time.
On opening the Standard, however, I found
that there was a fresh allusion to the business.
"With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy,"
it remarked, "we have reason to believe that
the matter promises to be even more complex
and mysterious than was originally supposed.
Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite
impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could
have been in any way concerned in the matter.
He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were
both released yesterday evening. It is believed,
however, that the police have a clue as to
the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted
by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with
all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further
arrests may be expected at any moment."
"That is satisfactory so far as it goes,"
thought I. "Friend Sholto is safe, at any
rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be;
though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever
the police have made a blunder."
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but
at that moment my eye caught an advertisement
in the agony column. It ran in this way:
"Lost.—Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman,
and his son, Jim, left Smith's Wharf at or
about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in
the steam launch Aurora, black with two red
stripes, funnel black with a white band, the
sum of five pounds will be paid to any one
who can give information to Mrs. Smith, at
Smith's Wharf, or at 221b Baker Street, as
to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith
and the launch Aurora."
This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker
Street address was enough to prove that. It
struck me as rather ingenious, because it
might be read by the fugitives without their
seeing in it more than the natural anxiety
of a wife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock
came to the door, or a sharp step passed in
the street, I imagined that it was either
Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement.
I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander
off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted
and villainous pair whom we were pursuing.
Could there be, I wondered, some radical flaw
in my companion's reasoning. Might he be suffering
from some huge self-deception? Was it not
possible that his nimble and speculative mind
had built up this wild theory upon faulty
premises? I had never known him to be wrong;
and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally
be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to
fall into error through the over-refinement
of his logic,—his preference for a subtle
and bizarre explanation when a plainer and
more commonplace one lay ready to his hand.
Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen
the evidence, and I had heard the reasons
for his deductions. When I looked back on
the long chain of curious circumstances, many
of them trivial in themselves, but all tending
in the same direction, I could not disguise
from myself that even if Holmes's explanation
were incorrect the true theory must be equally
outre and startling.
At three o'clock in the afternoon there was
a loud peal at the bell, an authoritative
voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no
less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was
shown up to me. Very different was he, however,
from the brusque and masterful professor of
common sense who had taken over the case so
confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression
was downcast, and his bearing meek and even
apologetic.
"Good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock
Holmes is out, I understand."
"Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be
back. But perhaps you would care to wait.
Take that chair and try one of these cigars."
"Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he,
mopping his face with a red bandanna handkerchief.
"And a whiskey-and-soda?"
"Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the
time of year; and I have had a good deal to
worry and try me. You know my theory about
this Norwood case?"
"I remember that you expressed one."
"Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it.
I had my net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto,
sir, when pop he went through a hole in the
middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi
which could not be shaken. From the time that
he left his brother's room he was never out
of sight of some one or other. So it could
not be he who climbed over roofs and through
trap-doors. It's a very dark case, and my
professional credit is at stake. I should
be very glad of a little assistance."
"We all need help sometimes," said I.
"Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful
man, sir," said he, in a husky and confidential
voice. "He's a man who is not to be beat.
I have known that young man go into a good
many cases, but I never saw the case yet that
he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular
in his methods, and a little quick perhaps
in jumping at theories, but, on the whole,
I think he would have made a most promising
officer, and I don't care who knows it. I
have had a wire from him this morning, by
which I understand that he has got some clue
to this Sholto business. Here is the message."
He took the telegram out of his pocket, and
handed it to me. It was dated from Poplar
at twelve o'clock. "Go to Baker Street at
once," it said. "If I have not returned, wait
for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto
gang. You can come with us to-night if you
want to be in at the finish."
"This sounds well. He has evidently picked
up the scent again," said I.
"Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed
Jones, with evident satisfaction. "Even the
best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course
this may prove to be a false alarm; but it
is my duty as an officer of the law to allow
no chance to slip. But there is some one at
the door. Perhaps this is he."
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair,
with a great wheezing and rattling as from
a man who was sorely put to it for breath.
Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb
were too much for him, but at last he made
his way to our door and entered. His appearance
corresponded to the sounds which we had heard.
He was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb,
with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his
throat. His back was bowed, his knees were
shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic.
As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his
shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the
air into his lungs. He had a colored scarf
round his chin, and I could see little of
his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung
by bushy white brows, and long gray side-whiskers.
Altogether he gave me the impression of a
respectable master mariner who had fallen
into years and poverty.
"What is it, my man?" I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical
fashion of old age.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" said he.
"No; but I am acting for him. You can tell
me any message you have for him."
"It was to him himself I was to tell it,"
said he.
"But I tell you that I am acting for him.
Was it about Mordecai Smith's boat?"
"Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows
where the men he is after are. An' I knows
where the treasure is. I knows all about it."
"Then tell me, and I shall let him know."
"It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated,
with the petulant obstinacy of a very old
man.
"Well, you must wait for him."
"No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day
to please no one. If Mr. Holmes ain't here,
then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself.
I don't care about the look of either of you,
and I won't tell a word."
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney
Jones got in front of him.
"Wait a bit, my friend," said he. "You have
important information, and you must not walk
off. We shall keep you, whether you like or
not, until our friend returns."
The old man made a little run towards the
door, but, as Athelney Jones put his broad
back up against it, he recognized the uselessness
of resistance.
"Pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried,
stamping his stick. "I come here to see a
gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in
my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!"
"You will be none the worse," I said. "We
shall recompense you for the loss of your
time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will
not have long to wait."
He came across sullenly enough, and seated
himself with his face resting on his hands.
Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.
Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in
upon us.
"I think that you might offer me a cigar too,"
he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes
sitting close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
"Holmes!" I exclaimed. "You here! But where
is the old man?"
"Here is the old man," said he, holding out
a heap of white hair. "Here he is,—wig,
whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my
disguise was pretty good, but I hardly expected
that it would stand that test."
"Ah, You rogue!" cried Jones, highly delighted.
"You would have made an actor, and a rare
one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and
those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound
a week. I thought I knew the glint of your
eye, though. You didn't get away from us so
easily, You see."
"I have been working in that get-up all day,"
said he, lighting his cigar. "You see, a good
many of the criminal classes begin to know
me,—especially since our friend here took
to publishing some of my cases: so I can only
go on the war-path under some simple disguise
like this. You got my wire?"
"Yes; that was what brought me here."
"How has your case prospered?"
"It has all come to nothing. I have had to
release two of my prisoners, and there is
no evidence against the other two."
"Never mind. We shall give you two others
in the place of them. But you must put yourself
under my orders. You are welcome to all the
official credit, but you must act on the line
that I point out. Is that agreed?"
"Entirely, if you will help me to the men."
"Well, then, in the first place I shall want
a fast police-boat—a steam launch—to be
at the Westminster Stairs at seven o'clock."
"That is easily managed. There is always one
about there; but I can step across the road
and telephone to make sure."
"Then I shall want two stanch men, in case
of resistance."
"There will be two or three in the boat. What
else?"
"When we secure the men we shall get the treasure.
I think that it would be a pleasure to my
friend here to take the box round to the young
lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs.
Let her be the first to open it.—Eh, Watson?"
"It would be a great pleasure to me."
"Rather an irregular proceeding," said Jones,
shaking his head. "However, the whole thing
is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at
it. The treasure must afterwards be handed
over to the authorities until after the official
investigation."
"Certainly. That is easily managed. One other
point. I should much like to have a few details
about this matter from the lips of Jonathan
Small himself. You know I like to work the
detail of my cases out. There is no objection
to my having an unofficial interview with
him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere,
as long as he is efficiently guarded?"
"Well, you are master of the situation. I
have had no proof yet of the existence of
this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch
him I don't see how I can refuse you an interview
with him."
"That is understood, then?"
"Perfectly. Is there anything else?"
"Only that I insist upon your dining with
us. It will be ready in half an hour. I have
oysters and a brace of grouse, with something
a little choice in white wines.—Watson,
you have never yet recognized my merits as
a housekeeper."
Chapter X
The End of the Islander
Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk
exceedingly well when he chose, and that night
he did choose. He appeared to be in a state
of nervous exaltation. I have never known
him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession
of subjects,—on miracle-plays, on medieval
pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism
of Ceylon, and on the war-ships of the future,—handling
each as though he had made a special study
of it. His bright humor marked the reaction
from his black depression of the preceding
days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable
soul in his hours of relaxation, and faced
his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. For
myself, I felt elated at the thought that
we were nearing the end of our task, and I
caught something of Holmes's gaiety. None
of us alluded during dinner to the cause which
had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced
at his watch, and filled up three glasses
with port. "One bumper," said he, "to the
success of our little expedition. And now
it is high time we were off. Have you a pistol,
Watson?"
"I have my old service-revolver in my desk."
"You had best take it, then. It is well to
be prepared. I see that the cab is at the
door. I ordered it for half-past six."
It was a little past seven before we reached
the Westminster wharf, and found our launch
awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.
"Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?"
"Yes,—that green lamp at the side."
"Then take it off."
The small change was made, we stepped on board,
and the ropes were cast off. Jones, Holmes,
and I sat in the stern. There was one man
at the rudder, one to tend the engines, and
two burly police-inspectors forward.
"Where to?" asked Jones.
"To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite
Jacobson's Yard."
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We
shot past the long lines of loaded barges
as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled
with satisfaction as we overhauled a river
steamer and left her behind us.
"We ought to be able to catch anything on
the river," he said.
"Well, hardly that. But there are not many
launches to beat us."
"We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she
has a name for being a clipper. I will tell
you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect
how annoyed I was at being balked by so small
a thing?"
"Yes."
"Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging
into a chemical analysis. One of our greatest
statesmen has said that a change of work is
the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded
in dissolving the hydrocarbon which I was
at work at, I came back to our problem of
the Sholtos, and thought the whole matter
out again. My boys had been up the river and
down the river without result. The launch
was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor
had it returned. Yet it could hardly have
been scuttled to hide their traces,—though
that always remained as a possible hypothesis
if all else failed. I knew this man Small
had a certain degree of low cunning, but I
did not think him capable of anything in the
nature of delicate finesse. That is usually
a product of higher education. I then reflected
that since he had certainly been in London
some time—as we had evidence that he maintained
a continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge—he
could hardly leave at a moment's notice, but
would need some little time, if it were only
a day, to arrange his affairs. That was the
balance of probability, at any rate."
"It seems to me to be a little weak," said
I. "It is more probable that he had arranged
his affairs before ever he set out upon his
expedition."
"No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would
be too valuable a retreat in case of need
for him to give it up until he was sure that
he could do without it. But a second consideration
struck me. Jonathan Small must have felt that
the peculiar appearance of his companion,
however much he may have top-coated him, would
give rise to gossip, and possibly be associated
with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp
enough to see that. They had started from
their head-quarters under cover of darkness,
and he would wish to get back before it was
broad light. Now, it was past three o'clock,
according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the
boat. It would be quite bright, and people
would be about in an hour or so. Therefore,
I argued, they did not go very far. They paid
Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his
launch for the final escape, and hurried to
their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a
couple of nights, when they had time to see
what view the papers took, and whether there
was any suspicion, they would make their way
under cover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend
or in the Downs, where no doubt they had already
arranged for passages to America or the Colonies."
"But the launch? They could not have taken
that to their lodgings."
"Quite so. I argued that the launch must be
no great way off, in spite of its invisibility.
I then put myself in the place of Small, and
looked at it as a man of his capacity would.
He would probably consider that to send back
the launch or to keep it at a wharf would
make pursuit easy if the police did happen
to get on his track. How, then, could he conceal
the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted?
I wondered what I should do myself if I were
in his shoes. I could only think of one way
of doing it. I might land the launch over
to some boat-builder or repairer, with directions
to make a trifling change in her. She would
then be removed to his shed or yard, and so
be effectually concealed, while at the same
time I could have her at a few hours' notice."
"That seems simple enough."
"It is just these very simple things which
are extremely liable to be overlooked. However,
I determined to act on the idea. I started
at once in this harmless seaman's rig and
inquired at all the yards down the river.
I drew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth—Jacobson's—I
learned that the Aurora had been handed over
to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man,
with some trivial directions as to her rudder.
'There ain't naught amiss with her rudder,'
said the foreman. 'There she lies, with the
red streaks.' At that moment who should come
down but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner?
He was rather the worse for liquor. I should
not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed
out his name and the name of his launch. 'I
want her to-night at eight o'clock,' said
he,—'eight o'clock sharp, mind, for I have
two gentlemen who won't be kept waiting.'
They had evidently paid him well, for he was
very flush of money, chucking shillings about
to the men. I followed him some distance,
but he subsided into an ale-house: so I went
back to the yard, and, happening to pick up
one of my boys on the way, I stationed him
as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand
at water's edge and wave his handkerchief
to us when they start. We shall be lying off
in the stream, and it will be a strange thing
if we do not take men, treasure, and all."
"You have planned it all very neatly, whether
they are the right men or not," said Jones;
"but if the affair were in my hands I should
have had a body of police in Jacobson's Yard,
and arrested them when they came down."
"Which would have been never. This man Small
is a pretty shrewd fellow. He would send a
scout on ahead, and if anything made him suspicious
lie snug for another week."
"But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith,
and so been led to their hiding-place," said
I.
"In that case I should have wasted my day.
I think that it is a hundred to one against
Smith knowing where they live. As long as
he has liquor and good pay, why should he
ask questions? They send him messages what
to do. No, I thought over every possible course,
and this is the best."
While this conversation had been proceeding,
we had been shooting the long series of bridges
which span the Thames. As we passed the City
the last rays of the sun were gilding the
cross upon the summit of St. Paul's. It was
twilight before we reached the Tower.
"That is Jacobson's Yard," said Holmes, pointing
to a bristle of masts and rigging on the Surrey
side. "Cruise gently up and down here under
cover of this string of lighters." He took
a pair of night-glasses from his pocket and
gazed some time at the shore. "I see my sentry
at his post," he remarked, "but no sign of
a handkerchief."
"Suppose we go down-stream a short way and
lie in wait for them," said Jones, eagerly.
We were all eager by this time, even the policemen
and stokers, who had a very vague idea of
what was going forward.
"We have no right to take anything for granted,"
Holmes answered. "It is certainly ten to one
that they go down-stream, but we cannot be
certain. From this point we can see the entrance
of the yard, and they can hardly see us. It
will be a clear night and plenty of light.
We must stay where we are. See how the folk
swarm over yonder in the gaslight."
"They are coming from work in the yard."
"Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every
one has some little immortal spark concealed
about him. You would not think it, to look
at them. There is no a priori probability
about it. A strange enigma is man!"
"Some one calls him a soul concealed in an
animal," I suggested.
"Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,"
said Holmes. "He remarks that, while the individual
man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate
he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can,
for example, never foretell what any one man
will do, but you can say with precision what
an average number will be up to. Individuals
vary, but percentages remain constant. So
says the statistician. But do I see a handkerchief?
Surely there is a white flutter over yonder."
"Yes, it is your boy," I cried. "I can see
him plainly."
"And there is the Aurora," exclaimed Holmes,
"and going like the devil! Full speed ahead,
engineer. Make after that launch with the
yellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive
myself if she proves to have the heels of
us!"
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance
and passed behind two or three small craft,
so that she had fairly got her speed up before
we saw her. Now she was flying down the stream,
near in to the shore, going at a tremendous
rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook
his head.
"She is very fast," he said. "I doubt if we
shall catch her."
"We MUST catch her!" cried Holmes, between
his teeth. "Heap it on, stokers! Make her
do all she can! If we burn the boat we must
have them!"
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces
roared, and the powerful engines whizzed and
clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her
sharp, steep prow cut through the river-water
and sent two rolling waves to right and to
left of us. With every throb of the engines
we sprang and quivered like a living thing.
One great yellow lantern in our bows threw
a long, flickering funnel of light in front
of us. Right ahead a dark blur upon the water
showed where the Aurora lay, and the swirl
of white foam behind her spoke of the pace
at which she was going. We flashed past barges,
steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind
this one and round the other. Voices hailed
us out of the darkness, but still the Aurora
thundered on, and still we followed close
upon her track.
"Pile it on, men, pile it on!" cried Holmes,
looking down into the engine-room, while the
fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,
aquiline face. "Get every pound of steam you
can."
"I think we gain a little," said Jones, with
his eyes on the Aurora.
"I am sure of it," said I. "We shall be up
with her in a very few minutes."
At that moment, however, as our evil fate
would have it, a tug with three barges in
tow blundered in between us. It was only by
putting our helm hard down that we avoided
a collision, and before we could round them
and recover our way the Aurora had gained
a good two hundred yards. She was still, however,
well in view, and the murky uncertain twilight
was setting into a clear starlit night. Our
boilers were strained to their utmost, and
the frail shell vibrated and creaked with
the fierce energy which was driving us along.
We had shot through the Pool, past the West
India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach,
and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs.
The dull blur in front of us resolved itself
now clearly enough into the dainty Aurora.
Jones turned our search-light upon her, so
that we could plainly see the figures upon
her deck. One man sat by the stern, with something
black between his knees over which he stooped.
Beside him lay a dark mass which looked like
a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller,
while against the red glare of the furnace
I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist,
and shovelling coals for dear life. They may
have had some doubt at first as to whether
we were really pursuing them, but now as we
followed every winding and turning which they
took there could no longer be any question
about it. At Greenwich we were about three
hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we
could not have been more than two hundred
and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in
many countries during my checkered career,
but never did sport give me such a wild thrill
as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames.
Steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard.
In the silence of the night we could hear
the panting and clanking of their machinery.
The man in the stern still crouched upon the
deck, and his arms were moving as though he
were busy, while every now and then he would
look up and measure with a glance the distance
which still separated us. Nearer we came and
nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were
not more than four boat's lengths behind them,
both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It
was a clear reach of the river, with Barking
Level upon one side and the melancholy Plumstead
Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man
in the stern sprang up from the deck and shook
his two clinched fists at us, cursing the
while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,
powerful man, and as he stood poising himself
with legs astride I could see that from the
thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump
upon the right side. At the sound of his strident,
angry cries there was movement in the huddled
bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself
into a little black man—the smallest I have
ever seen—with a great, misshapen head and
a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes
had already drawn his revolver, and I whipped
out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted
creature. He was wrapped in some sort of dark
ulster or blanket, which left only his face
exposed; but that face was enough to give
a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen
features so deeply marked with all bestiality
and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and burned
with a sombre light, and his thick lips were
writhed back from his teeth, which grinned
and chattered at us with a half animal fury.
"Fire if he raises his hand," said Holmes,
quietly. We were within a boat's-length by
this time, and almost within touch of our
quarry. I can see the two of them now as they
stood, the white man with his legs far apart,
shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf
with his hideous face, and his strong yellow
teeth gnashing at us in the light of our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of
him. Even as we looked he plucked out from
under his covering a short, round piece of
wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it
to his lips. Our pistols rang out together.
He whirled round, threw up his arms, and with
a kind of choking cough fell sideways into
the stream. I caught one glimpse of his venomous,
menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the
waters. At the same moment the wooden-legged
man threw himself upon the rudder and put
it hard down, so that his boat made straight
in for the southern bank, while we shot past
her stern, only clearing her by a few feet.
We were round after her in an instant, but
she was already nearly at the bank. It was
a wild and desolate place, where the moon
glimmered upon a wide expanse of marsh-land,
with pools of stagnant water and beds of decaying
vegetation. The launch with a dull thud ran
up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in the
air and her stern flush with the water. The
fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly
sank its whole length into the sodden soil.
In vain he struggled and writhed. Not one
step could he possibly take either forwards
or backwards. He yelled in impotent rage,
and kicked frantically into the mud with his
other foot, but his struggles only bored his
wooden pin the deeper into the sticky bank.
When we brought our launch alongside he was
so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing
the end of a rope over his shoulders that
we were able to haul him out, and to drag
him, like some evil fish, over our side. The
two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenly in
their launch, but came aboard meekly enough
when commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled
off and made fast to our stern. A solid iron
chest of Indian workmanship stood upon the
deck. This, there could be no question, was
the same that had contained the ill-omened
treasure of the Sholtos. There was no key,
but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred
it carefully to our own little cabin. As we
steamed slowly up-stream again, we flashed
our search-light in every direction, but there
was no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in
the dark ooze at the bottom of the Thames
lie the bones of that strange visitor to our
shores.
"See here," said Holmes, pointing to the wooden
hatchway. "We were hardly quick enough with
our pistols." There, sure enough, just behind
where we had been standing, stuck one of those
murderous darts which we knew so well. It
must have whizzed between us at the instant
that we fired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged
his shoulders in his easy fashion, but I confess
that it turned me sick to think of the horrible
death which had passed so close to us that
night.
Chapter XI
The Great Agra Treasure
Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the
iron box which he had done so much and waited
so long to gain. He was a sunburned, reckless-eyed
fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles
all over his mahogany features, which told
of a hard, open-air life. There was a singular
prominence about his bearded chin which marked
a man who was not to be easily turned from
his purpose. His age may have been fifty or
thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was
thickly shot with gray. His face in repose
was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy
brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I had
lately seen, a terrible expression when moved
to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands
upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast,
while he looked with his keen, twinkling eyes
at the box which had been the cause of his
ill-doings. It seemed to me that there was
more sorrow than anger in his rigid and contained
countenance. Once he looked up at me with
a gleam of something like humor in his eyes.
"Well, Jonathan Small," said Holmes, lighting
a cigar, "I am sorry that it has come to this."
"And so am I, sir," he answered, frankly.
"I don't believe that I can swing over the
job. I give you my word on the book that I
never raised hand against Mr. Sholto. It was
that little hell-hound Tonga who shot one
of his cursed darts into him. I had no part
in it, sir. I was as grieved as if it had
been my blood-relation. I welted the little
devil with the slack end of the rope for it,
but it was done, and I could not undo it again."
"Have a cigar," said Holmes; "and you had
best take a pull out of my flask, for you
are very wet. How could you expect so small
and weak a man as this black fellow to overpower
Mr. Sholto and hold him while you were climbing
the rope?"
"You seem to know as much about it as if you
were there, sir. The truth is that I hoped
to find the room clear. I knew the habits
of the house pretty well, and it was the time
when Mr. Sholto usually went down to his supper.
I shall make no secret of the business. The
best defence that I can make is just the simple
truth. Now, if it had been the old major I
would have swung for him with a light heart.
I would have thought no more of knifing him
than of smoking this cigar. But it's cursed
hard that I should be lagged over this young
Sholto, with whom I had no quarrel whatever."
"You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney
Jones, of Scotland Yard. He is going to bring
you up to my rooms, and I shall ask you for
a true account of the matter. You must make
a clean breast of it, for if you do I hope
that I may be of use to you. I think I can
prove that the poison acts so quickly that
the man was dead before ever you reached the
room."
"That he was, sir. I never got such a turn
in my life as when I saw him grinning at me
with his head on his shoulder as I climbed
through the window. It fairly shook me, sir.
I'd have half killed Tonga for it if he had
not scrambled off. That was how he came to
leave his club, and some of his darts too,
as he tells me, which I dare say helped to
put you on our track; though how you kept
on it is more than I can tell. I don't feel
no malice against you for it. But it does
seem a queer thing," he added, with a bitter
smile, "that I who have a fair claim to nigh
upon half a million of money should spend
the first half of my life building a breakwater
in the Andamans, and am like to spend the
other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It
was an evil day for me when first I clapped
eyes upon the merchant Achmet and had to do
with the Agra treasure, which never brought
anything but a curse yet upon the man who
owned it. To him it brought murder, to Major
Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it
has meant slavery for life."
At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad
face and heavy shoulders into the tiny cabin.
"Quite a family party," he remarked. "I think
I shall have a pull at that flask, Holmes.
Well, I think we may all congratulate each
other. Pity we didn't take the other alive;
but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you
must confess that you cut it rather fine.
It was all we could do to overhaul her."
"All is well that ends well," said Holmes.
"But I certainly did not know that the Aurora
was such a clipper."
"Smith says she is one of the fastest launches
on the river, and that if he had had another
man to help him with the engines we should
never have caught her. He swears he knew nothing
of this Norwood business."
"Neither he did," cried our prisoner,—"not
a word. I chose his launch because I heard
that she was a flier. We told him nothing,
but we paid him well, and he was to get something
handsome if we reached our vessel, the Esmeralda,
at Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils."
"Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see
that no wrong comes to him. If we are pretty
quick in catching our men, we are not so quick
in condemning them." It was amusing to notice
how the consequential Jones was already beginning
to give himself airs on the strength of the
capture. From the slight smile which played
over Sherlock Holmes's face, I could see that
the speech had not been lost upon him.
"We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently,"
said Jones, "and shall land you, Dr. Watson,
with the treasure-box. I need hardly tell
you that I am taking a very grave responsibility
upon myself in doing this. It is most irregular;
but of course an agreement is an agreement.
I must, however, as a matter of duty, send
an inspector with you, since you have so valuable
a charge. You will drive, no doubt?"
"Yes, I shall drive."
"It is a pity there is no key, that we may
make an inventory first. You will have to
break it open. Where is the key, my man?"
"At the bottom of the river," said Small,
shortly.
"Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary
trouble. We have had work enough already through
you. However, doctor, I need not warn you
to be careful. Bring the box back with you
to the Baker Street rooms. You will find us
there, on our way to the station."
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy
iron box, and with a bluff, genial inspector
as my companion. A quarter of an hour's drive
brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The
servant seemed surprised at so late a visitor.
Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening,
she explained, and likely to be very late.
Miss Morstan, however, was in the drawing-room:
so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand,
leaving the obliging inspector in the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed
in some sort of white diaphanous material,
with a little touch of scarlet at the neck
and waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp
fell upon her as she leaned back in the basket
chair, playing over her sweet, grave face,
and tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle
the rich coils of her luxuriant hair. One
white arm and hand drooped over the side of
the chair, and her whole pose and figure spoke
of an absorbing melancholy. At the sound of
my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however,
and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure
colored her pale cheeks.
"I heard a cab drive up," she said. "I thought
that Mrs. Forrester had come back very early,
but I never dreamed that it might be you.
What news have you brought me?"
"I have brought something better than news,"
said I, putting down the box upon the table
and speaking jovially and boisterously, though
my heart was heavy within me. "I have brought
you something which is worth all the news
in the world. I have brought you a fortune."
She glanced at the iron box. "Is that the
treasure, then?" she asked, coolly enough.
"Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half
of it is yours and half is Thaddeus Sholto's.
You will have a couple of hundred thousand
each. Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand
pounds. There will be few richer young ladies
in England. Is it not glorious?"
I think that I must have been rather overacting
my delight, and that she detected a hollow
ring in my congratulations, for I saw her
eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at
me curiously.
"If I have it," said she, "I owe it to you."
"No, no," I answered, "not to me, but to my
friend Sherlock Holmes. With all the will
in the world, I could never have followed
up a clue which has taxed even his analytical
genius. As it was, we very nearly lost it
at the last moment."
"Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr.
Watson," said she.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since
I had seen her last,—Holmes's new method
of search, the discovery of the Aurora, the
appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition
in the evening, and the wild chase down the
Thames. She listened with parted lips and
shining eyes to my recital of our adventures.
When I spoke of the dart which had so narrowly
missed us, she turned so white that I feared
that she was about to faint.
"It is nothing," she said, as I hastened to
pour her out some water. "I am all right again.
It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed
my friends in such horrible peril."
"That is all over," I answered. "It was nothing.
I will tell you no more gloomy details. Let
us turn to something brighter. There is the
treasure. What could be brighter than that?
I got leave to bring it with me, thinking
that it would interest you to be the first
to see it."
"It would be of the greatest interest to me,"
she said. There was no eagerness in her voice,
however. It had struck her, doubtless, that
it might seem ungracious upon her part to
be indifferent to a prize which had cost so
much to win.
"What a pretty box!" she said, stooping over
it. "This is Indian work, I suppose?"
"Yes; it is Benares metal-work."
"And so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise
it. "The box alone must be of some value.
Where is the key?"
"Small threw it into the Thames," I answered.
"I must borrow Mrs. Forrester's poker." There
was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought
in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this
I thrust the end of the poker and twisted
it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open
with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I
flung back the lid. We both stood gazing in
astonishment. The box was empty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work
was two-thirds of an inch thick all round.
It was massive, well made, and solid, like
a chest constructed to carry things of great
price, but not one shred or crumb of metal
or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely
and completely empty.
"The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan,
calmly.
As I listened to the words and realized what
they meant, a great shadow seemed to pass
from my soul. I did not know how this Agra
treasure had weighed me down, until now that
it was finally removed. It was selfish, no
doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize
nothing save that the golden barrier was gone
from between us. "Thank God!" I ejaculated
from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning
smile. "Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Because you are within my reach again," I
said, taking her hand. She did not withdraw
it. "Because I love you, Mary, as truly as
ever a man loved a woman. Because this treasure,
these riches, sealed my lips. Now that they
are gone I can tell you how I love you. That
is why I said, 'Thank God.'"
"Then I say, 'Thank God,' too," she whispered,
as I drew her to my side. Whoever had lost
a treasure, I knew that night that I had gained
one.
Chapter XII
The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
A very patient man was that inspector in the
cab, for it was a weary time before I rejoined
him. His face clouded over when I showed him
the empty box.
"There goes the reward!" said he, gloomily.
"Where there is no money there is no pay.
This night's work would have been worth a
tenner each to Sam Brown and me if the treasure
had been there."
"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man," I said.
"He will see that you are rewarded, treasure
or no."
The inspector shook his head despondently,
however. "It's a bad job," he repeated; "and
so Mr. Athelney Jones will think."
His forecast proved to be correct, for the
detective looked blank enough when I got to
Baker Street and showed him the empty box.
They had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner,
and he, for they had changed their plans so
far as to report themselves at a station upon
the way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair
with his usual listless expression, while
Small sat stolidly opposite to him with his
wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I
exhibited the empty box he leaned back in
his chair and laughed aloud.
"This is your doing, Small," said Athelney
Jones, angrily.
"Yes, I have put it away where you shall never
lay hand upon it," he cried, exultantly. "It
is my treasure; and if I can't have the loot
I'll take darned good care that no one else
does. I tell you that no living man has any
right to it, unless it is three men who are
in the Andaman convict-barracks and myself.
I know now that I cannot have the use of it,
and I know that they cannot. I have acted
all through for them as much as for myself.
It's been the sign of four with us always.
Well I know that they would have had me do
just what I have done, and throw the treasure
into the Thames rather than let it go to kith
or kin of Sholto or of Morstan. It was not
to make them rich that we did for Achmet.
You'll find the treasure where the key is,
and where little Tonga is. When I saw that
your launch must catch us, I put the loot
away in a safe place. There are no rupees
for you this journey."
"You are deceiving us, Small," said Athelney
Jones, sternly. "If you had wished to throw
the treasure into the Thames it would have
been easier for you to have thrown box and
all."
"Easier for me to throw, and easier for you
to recover," he answered, with a shrewd, sidelong
look. "The man that was clever enough to hunt
me down is clever enough to pick an iron box
from the bottom of a river. Now that they
are scattered over five miles or so, it may
be a harder job. It went to my heart to do
it, though. I was half mad when you came up
with us. However, there's no good grieving
over it. I've had ups in my life, and I've
had downs, but I've learned not to cry over
spilled milk."
"This is a very serious matter, Small," said
the detective. "If you had helped justice,
instead of thwarting it in this way, you would
have had a better chance at your trial."
"Justice!" snarled the ex-convict. "A pretty
justice! Whose loot is this, if it is not
ours? Where is the justice that I should give
it up to those who have never earned it? Look
how I have earned it! Twenty long years in
that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under
the mangrove-tree, all night chained up in
the filthy convict-huts, bitten by mosquitoes,
racked with ague, bullied by every cursed
black-faced policeman who loved to take it
out of a white man. That was how I earned
the Agra treasure; and you talk to me of justice
because I cannot bear to feel that I have
paid this price only that another may enjoy
it! I would rather swing a score of times,
or have one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than
live in a convict's cell and feel that another
man is at his ease in a palace with the money
that should be mine." Small had dropped his
mask of stoicism, and all this came out in
a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed,
and the handcuffs clanked together with the
impassioned movement of his hands. I could
understand, as I saw the fury and the passion
of the man, that it was no groundless or unnatural
terror which had possessed Major Sholto when
he first learned that the injured convict
was upon his track.
"You forget that we know nothing of all this,"
said Holmes quietly. "We have not heard your
story, and we cannot tell how far justice
may originally have been on your side."
"Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken
to me, though I can see that I have you to
thank that I have these bracelets upon my
wrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that.
It is all fair and above-board. If you want
to hear my story I have no wish to hold it
back. What I say to you is God's truth, every
word of it. Thank you; you can put the glass
beside me here, and I'll put my lips to it
if I am dry.
"I am a Worcestershire man myself,—born
near Pershore. I dare say you would find a
heap of Smalls living there now if you were
to look. I have often thought of taking a
look round there, but the truth is that I
was never much of a credit to the family,
and I doubt if they would be so very glad
to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going
folk, small farmers, well known and respected
over the country-side, while I was always
a bit of a rover. At last, however, when I
was about eighteen, I gave them no more trouble,
for I got into a mess over a girl, and could
only get out of it again by taking the queen's
shilling and joining the 3d Buffs, which was
just starting for India.
"I wasn't destined to do much soldiering,
however. I had just got past the goose-step,
and learned to handle my musket, when I was
fool enough to go swimming in the Ganges.
Luckily for me, my company sergeant, John
Holder, was in the water at the same time,
and he was one of the finest swimmers in the
service. A crocodile took me, just as I was
half-way across, and nipped off my right leg
as clean as a surgeon could have done it,
just above the knee. What with the shock and
the loss of blood, I fainted, and should have
drowned if Holder had not caught hold of me
and paddled for the bank. I was five months
in hospital over it, and when at last I was
able to limp out of it with this timber toe
strapped to my stump I found myself invalided
out of the army and unfitted for any active
occupation.
"I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on
my luck at this time, for I was a useless
cripple though not yet in my twentieth year.
However, my misfortune soon proved to be a
blessing in disguise. A man named Abelwhite,
who had come out there as an indigo-planter,
wanted an overseer to look after his coolies
and keep them up to their work. He happened
to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken
an interest in me since the accident. To make
a long story short, the colonel recommended
me strongly for the post and, as the work
was mostly to be done on horseback, my leg
was no great obstacle, for I had enough knee
left to keep good grip on the saddle. What
I had to do was to ride over the plantation,
to keep an eye on the men as they worked,
and to report the idlers. The pay was fair,
I had comfortable quarters, and altogether
I was content to spend the remainder of my
life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite was
a kind man, and he would often drop into my
little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for
white folk out there feel their hearts warm
to each other as they never do here at home.
"Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly,
without a note of warning, the great mutiny
broke upon us. One month India lay as still
and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey
or Kent; the next there were two hundred thousand
black devils let loose, and the country was
a perfect hell. Of course you know all about
it, gentlemen,—a deal more than I do, very
like, since reading is not in my line. I only
know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation
was at a place called Muttra, near the border
of the Northwest Provinces. Night after night
the whole sky was alight with the burning
bungalows, and day after day we had small
companies of Europeans passing through our
estate with their wives and children, on their
way to Agra, where were the nearest troops.
Mr. Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He had
it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated,
and that it would blow over as suddenly as
it had sprung up. There he sat on his veranda,
drinking whiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots,
while the country was in a blaze about him.
Of course we stuck by him, I and Dawson, who,
with his wife, used to do the book-work and
the managing. Well, one fine day the crash
came. I had been away on a distant plantation,
and was riding slowly home in the evening,
when my eye fell upon something all huddled
together at the bottom of a steep nullah.
I rode down to see what it was, and the cold
struck through my heart when I found it was
Dawson's wife, all cut into ribbons, and half
eaten by jackals and native dogs. A little
further up the road Dawson himself was lying
on his face, quite dead, with an empty revolver
in his hand and four Sepoys lying across each
other in front of him. I reined up my horse,
wondering which way I should turn, but at
that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from
Abelwhite's bungalow and the flames beginning
to burst through the roof. I knew then that
I could do my employer no good, but would
only throw my own life away if I meddled in
the matter. From where I stood I could see
hundreds of the black fiends, with their red
coats still on their backs, dancing and howling
round the burning house. Some of them pointed
at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my
head; so I broke away across the paddy-fields,
and found myself late at night safe within
the walls at Agra.
"As it proved, however, there was no great
safety there, either. The whole country was
up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the English
could collect in little bands they held just
the ground that their guns commanded. Everywhere
else they were helpless fugitives. It was
a fight of the millions against the hundreds;
and the cruellest part of it was that these
men that we fought against, foot, horse, and
gunners, were our own picked troops, whom
we had taught and trained, handling our own
weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls.
At Agra there were the 3d Bengal Fusiliers,
some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery
of artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks
and merchants had been formed, and this I
joined, wooden leg and all. We went out to
meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July,
and we beat them back for a time, but our
powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon
the city. Nothing but the worst news came
to us from every side,—which is not to be
wondered at, for if you look at the map you
will see that we were right in the heart of
it. Lucknow is rather better than a hundred
miles to the east, and Cawnpore about as far
to the south. From every point on the compass
there was nothing but torture and murder and
outrage.
"The city of Agra is a great place, swarming
with fanatics and fierce devil-worshippers
of all sorts. Our handful of men were lost
among the narrow, winding streets. Our leader
moved across the river, therefore, and took
up his position in the old fort at Agra. I
don't know if any of you gentlemen have ever
read or heard anything of that old fort. It
is a very queer place,—the queerest that
ever I was in, and I have been in some rum
corners, too. First of all, it is enormous
in size. I should think that the enclosure
must be acres and acres. There is a modern
part, which took all our garrison, women,
children, stores, and everything else, with
plenty of room over. But the modern part is
nothing like the size of the old quarter,
where nobody goes, and which is given over
to the scorpions and the centipedes. It is
all full of great deserted halls, and winding
passages, and long corridors twisting in and
out, so that it is easy enough for folk to
get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom
that any one went into it, though now and
again a party with torches might go exploring.
"The river washes along the front of the old
fort, and so protects it, but on the sides
and behind there are many doors, and these
had to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter
as well as in that which was actually held
by our troops. We were short-handed, with
hardly men enough to man the angles of the
building and to serve the guns. It was impossible
for us, therefore, to station a strong guard
at every one of the innumerable gates. What
we did was to organize a central guard-house
in the middle of the fort, and to leave each
gate under the charge of one white man and
two or three natives. I was selected to take
charge during certain hours of the night of
a small isolated door upon the southwest side
of the building. Two Sikh troopers were placed
under my command, and I was instructed if
anything went wrong to fire my musket, when
I might rely upon help coming at once from
the central guard. As the guard was a good
two hundred paces away, however, and as the
space between was cut up into a labyrinth
of passages and corridors, I had great doubts
as to whether they could arrive in time to
be of any use in case of an actual attack.
"Well, I was pretty proud at having this small
command given me, since I was a raw recruit,
and a game-legged one at that. For two nights
I kept the watch with my Punjaubees. They
were tall, fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh
and Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting-men
who had borne arms against us at Chilian-wallah.
They could talk English pretty well, but I
could get little out of them. They preferred
to stand together and jabber all night in
their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used
to stand outside the gate-way, looking down
on the broad, winding river and on the twinkling
lights of the great city. The beating of drums,
the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls
of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang,
were enough to remind us all night of our
dangerous neighbors across the stream. Every
two hours the officer of the night used to
come round to all the posts, to make sure
that all was well.
"The third night of my watch was dark and
dirty, with a small, driving rain. It was
dreary work standing in the gate-way hour
after hour in such weather. I tried again
and again to make my Sikhs talk, but without
much success. At two in the morning the rounds
passed, and broke for a moment the weariness
of the night. Finding that my companions would
not be led into conversation, I took out my
pipe, and laid down my musket to strike the
match. In an instant the two Sikhs were upon
me. One of them snatched my firelock up and
levelled it at my head, while the other held
a great knife to my throat and swore between
his teeth that he would plunge it into me
if I moved a step.
"My first thought was that these fellows were
in league with the rebels, and that this was
the beginning of an assault. If our door were
in the hands of the Sepoys the place must
fall, and the women and children be treated
as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen
think that I am just making out a case for
myself, but I give you my word that when I
thought of that, though I felt the point of
the knife at my throat, I opened my mouth
with the intention of giving a scream, if
it was my last one, which might alarm the
main guard. The man who held me seemed to
know my thoughts; for, even as I braced myself
to it, he whispered, 'Don't make a noise.
The fort is safe enough. There are no rebel
dogs on this side of the river.' There was
the ring of truth in what he said, and I knew
that if I raised my voice I was a dead man.
I could read it in the fellow's brown eyes.
I waited, therefore, in silence, to see what
it was that they wanted from me.
"'Listen to me, Sahib,' said the taller and
fiercer of the pair, the one whom they called
Abdullah Khan. 'You must either be with us
now or you must be silenced forever. The thing
is too great a one for us to hesitate. Either
you are heart and soul with us on your oath
on the cross of the Christians, or your body
this night shall be thrown into the ditch
and we shall pass over to our brothers in
the rebel army. There is no middle way. Which
is it to be, death or life? We can only give
you three minutes to decide, for the time
is passing, and all must be done before the
rounds come again.'
"'How can I decide?' said I. 'You have not
told me what you want of me. But I tell you
now that if it is anything against the safety
of the fort I will have no truck with it,
so you can drive home your knife and welcome.'
"'It is nothing against the fort,' said he.
'We only ask you to do that which your countrymen
come to this land for. We ask you to be rich.
If you will be one of us this night, we will
swear to you upon the naked knife, and by
the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever
known to break, that you shall have your fair
share of the loot. A quarter of the treasure
shall be yours. We can say no fairer.'
"'But what is the treasure, then?' I asked.
'I am as ready to be rich as you can be, if
you will but show me how it can be done.'
"'You will swear, then,' said he, 'by the
bones of your father, by the honor of your
mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise
no hand and speak no word against us, either
now or afterwards?'
"'I will swear it,' I answered, 'provided
that the fort is not endangered.'
"'Then my comrade and I will swear that you
shall have a quarter of the treasure which
shall be equally divided among the four of
us.'
"'There are but three,' said I.
"'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can
tell the tale to you while we await them.
Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and
give notice of their coming. The thing stands
thus, Sahib, and I tell it to you because
I know that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee,
and that we may trust you. Had you been a
lying Hindoo, though you had sworn by all
the gods in their false temples, your blood
would have been upon the knife, and your body
in the water. But the Sikh knows the Englishman,
and the Englishman knows the Sikh. Hearken,
then, to what I have to say.
"'There is a rajah in the northern provinces
who has much wealth, though his lands are
small. Much has come to him from his father,
and more still he has set by himself, for
he is of a low nature and hoards his gold
rather than spend it. When the troubles broke
out he would be friends both with the lion
and the tiger,—with the Sepoy and with the
Company's Raj. Soon, however, it seemed to
him that the white men's day was come, for
through all the land he could hear of nothing
but of their death and their overthrow. Yet,
being a careful man, he made such plans that,
come what might, half at least of his treasure
should be left to him. That which was in gold
and silver he kept by him in the vaults of
his palace, but the most precious stones and
the choicest pearls that he had he put in
an iron box, and sent it by a trusty servant
who, under the guise of a merchant, should
take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie
until the land is at peace. Thus, if the rebels
won he would have his money, but if the Company
conquered his jewels would be saved to him.
Having thus divided his hoard, he threw himself
into the cause of the Sepoys, since they were
strong upon his borders. By doing this, mark
you, Sahib, his property becomes the due of
those who have been true to their salt.
"'This pretended merchant, who travels under
the name of Achmet, is now in the city of
Agra, and desires to gain his way into the
fort. He has with him as travelling-companion
my foster-brother Dost Akbar, who knows his
secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night
to lead him to a side-postern of the fort,
and has chosen this one for his purpose. Here
he will come presently, and here he will find
Mahomet Singh and myself awaiting him. The
place is lonely, and none shall know of his
coming. The world shall know of the merchant
Achmet no more, but the great treasure of
the rajah shall be divided among us. What
say you to it, Sahib?'
"In Worcestershire the life of a man seems
a great and a sacred thing; but it is very
different when there is fire and blood all
round you and you have been used to meeting
death at every turn. Whether Achmet the merchant
lived or died was a thing as light as air
to me, but at the talk about the treasure
my heart turned to it, and I thought of what
I might do in the old country with it, and
how my folk would stare when they saw their
ne'er-do-well coming back with his pockets
full of gold moidores. I had, therefore, already
made up my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking
that I hesitated, pressed the matter more
closely.
"'Consider, Sahib,' said he, 'that if this
man is taken by the commandant he will be
hung or shot, and his jewels taken by the
government, so that no man will be a rupee
the better for them. Now, since we do the
taking of him, why should we not do the rest
as well? The jewels will be as well with us
as in the Company's coffers. There will be
enough to make every one of us rich men and
great chiefs. No one can know about the matter,
for here we are cut off from all men. What
could be better for the purpose? Say again,
then, Sahib, whether you are with us, or if
we must look upon you as an enemy.'
"'I am with you heart and soul,' said I.
"'It is well,' he answered, handing me back
my firelock. 'You see that we trust you, for
your word, like ours, is not to be broken.
We have now only to wait for my brother and
the merchant.'
"'Does your brother know, then, of what you
will do?' I asked.
"'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will
go to the gate and share the watch with Mahomet
Singh.'
"The rain was still falling steadily, for
it was just the beginning of the wet season.
Brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the
sky, and it was hard to see more than a stone-cast.
A deep moat lay in front of our door, but
the water was in places nearly dried up, and
it could easily be crossed. It was strange
to me to be standing there with those two
wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was
coming to his death.
"Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded
lantern at the other side of the moat. It
vanished among the mound-heaps, and then appeared
again coming slowly in our direction.
"'Here they are!' I exclaimed.
"'You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,'
whispered Abdullah. 'Give him no cause for
fear. Send us in with him, and we shall do
the rest while you stay here on guard. Have
the lantern ready to uncover, that we may
be sure that it is indeed the man.'
"The light had flickered onwards, now stopping
and now advancing, until I could see two dark
figures upon the other side of the moat. I
let them scramble down the sloping bank, splash
through the mire, and climb half-way up to
the gate, before I challenged them.
"'Who goes there?' said I, in a subdued voice.
"'Friends,' came the answer. I uncovered my
lantern and threw a flood of light upon them.
The first was an enormous Sikh, with a black
beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund.
Outside of a show I have never seen so tall
a man. The other was a little, fat, round
fellow, with a great yellow turban, and a
bundle in his hand, done up in a shawl. He
seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for
his hands twitched as if he had the ague,
and his head kept turning to left and right
with two bright little twinkling eyes, like
a mouse when he ventures out from his hole.
It gave me the chills to think of killing
him, but I thought of the treasure, and my
heart set as hard as a flint within me. When
he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup
of joy and came running up towards me.
"'Your protection, Sahib,' he panted,—'your
protection for the unhappy merchant Achmet.
I have travelled across Rajpootana that I
might seek the shelter of the fort at Agra.
I have been robbed and beaten and abused because
I have been the friend of the Company. It
is a blessed night this when I am once more
in safety,—I and my poor possessions.'
"'What have you in the bundle?' I asked.
"'An iron box,' he answered, 'which contains
one or two little family matters which are
of no value to others, but which I should
be sorry to lose. Yet I am not a beggar; and
I shall reward you, young Sahib, and your
governor also, if he will give me the shelter
I ask.'
"I could not trust myself to speak longer
with the man. The more I looked at his fat,
frightened face, the harder did it seem that
we should slay him in cold blood. It was best
to get it over.
"'Take him to the main guard,' said I. The
two Sikhs closed in upon him on each side,
and the giant walked behind, while they marched
in through the dark gate-way. Never was a
man so compassed round with death. I remained
at the gate-way with the lantern.
"I could hear the measured tramp of their
footsteps sounding through the lonely corridors.
Suddenly it ceased, and I heard voices, and
a scuffle, with the sound of blows. A moment
later there came, to my horror, a rush of
footsteps coming in my direction, with the
loud breathing of a running man. I turned
my lantern down the long, straight passage,
and there was the fat man, running like the
wind, with a smear of blood across his face,
and close at his heels, bounding like a tiger,
the great black-bearded Sikh, with a knife
flashing in his hand. I have never seen a
man run so fast as that little merchant. He
was gaining on the Sikh, and I could see that
if he once passed me and got to the open air
he would save himself yet. My heart softened
to him, but again the thought of his treasure
turned me hard and bitter. I cast my firelock
between his legs as he raced past, and he
rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere
he could stagger to his feet the Sikh was
upon him, and buried his knife twice in his
side. The man never uttered moan nor moved
muscle, but lay were he had fallen. I think
myself that he may have broken his neck with
the fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping
my promise. I am telling you every work of
the business just exactly as it happened,
whether it is in my favor or not."
He stopped, and held out his manacled hands
for the whiskey-and-water which Holmes had
brewed for him. For myself, I confess that
I had now conceived the utmost horror of the
man, not only for this cold-blooded business
in which he had been concerned, but even more
for the somewhat flippant and careless way
in which he narrated it. Whatever punishment
was in store for him, I felt that he might
expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes
and Jones sat with their hands upon their
knees, deeply interested in the story, but
with the same disgust written upon their faces.
He may have observed it, for there was a touch
of defiance in his voice and manner as he
proceeded.
"It was all very bad, no doubt," said he.
"I should like to know how many fellows in
my shoes would have refused a share of this
loot when they knew that they would have their
throats cut for their pains. Besides, it was
my life or his when once he was in the fort.
If he had got out, the whole business would
come to light, and I should have been court-martialled
and shot as likely as not; for people were
not very lenient at a time like that."
"Go on with your story," said Holmes, shortly.
"Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar,
and I. A fine weight he was, too, for all
that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was left
to guard the door. We took him to a place
which the Sikhs had already prepared. It was
some distance off, where a winding passage
leads to a great empty hall, the brick walls
of which were all crumbling to pieces. The
earth floor had sunk in at one place, making
a natural grave, so we left Achmet the merchant
there, having first covered him over with
loose bricks. This done, we all went back
to the treasure.
"It lay where he had dropped it when he was
first attacked. The box was the same which
now lies open upon your table. A key was hung
by a silken cord to that carved handle upon
the top. We opened it, and the light of the
lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems
such as I have read of and thought about when
I was a little lad at Pershore. It was blinding
to look upon them. When we had feasted our
eyes we took them all out and made a list
of them. There were one hundred and forty-three
diamonds of the first water, including one
which has been called, I believe, 'the Great
Mogul' and is said to be the second largest
stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven
very fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventy
rubies, some of which, however, were small.
There were forty carbuncles, two hundred and
ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great
quantity of beryls, onyxes, cats'-eyes, turquoises,
and other stones, the very names of which
I did not know at the time, though I have
become more familiar with them since. Besides
this, there were nearly three hundred very
fine pearls, twelve of which were set in a
gold coronet. By the way, these last had been
taken out of the chest and were not there
when I recovered it.
"After we had counted our treasures we put
them back into the chest and carried them
to the gate-way to show them to Mahomet Singh.
Then we solemnly renewed our oath to stand
by each other and be true to our secret. We
agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place
until the country should be at peace again,
and then to divide it equally among ourselves.
There was no use dividing it at present, for
if gems of such value were found upon us it
would cause suspicion, and there was no privacy
in the fort nor any place where we could keep
them. We carried the box, therefore, into
the same hall where we had buried the body,
and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved
wall, we made a hollow and put our treasure.
We made careful note of the place, and next
day I drew four plans, one for each of us,
and put the sign of the four of us at the
bottom, for we had sworn that we should each
always act for all, so that none might take
advantage. That is an oath that I can put
my hand to my heart and swear that I have
never broken.
"Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen
what came of the Indian mutiny. After Wilson
took Delhi and Sir Colin relieved Lucknow
the back of the business was broken. Fresh
troops came pouring in, and Nana Sahib made
himself scarce over the frontier. A flying
column under Colonel Greathed came round to
Agra and cleared the Pandies away from it.
Peace seemed to be settling upon the country,
and we four were beginning to hope that the
time was at hand when we might safely go off
with our shares of the plunder. In a moment,
however, our hopes were shattered by our being
arrested as the murderers of Achmet.
"It came about in this way. When the rajah
put his jewels into the hands of Achmet he
did it because he knew that he was a trusty
man. They are suspicious folk in the East,
however: so what does this rajah do but take
a second even more trusty servant and set
him to play the spy upon the first? This second
man was ordered never to let Achmet out of
his sight, and he followed him like his shadow.
He went after him that night and saw him pass
through the doorway. Of course he thought
he had taken refuge in the fort, and applied
for admission there himself next day, but
could find no trace of Achmet. This seemed
to him so strange that he spoke about it to
a sergeant of guides, who brought it to the
ears of the commandant. A thorough search
was quickly made, and the body was discovered.
Thus at the very moment that we thought that
all was safe we were all four seized and brought
to trial on a charge of murder,—three of
us because we had held the gate that night,
and the fourth because he was known to have
been in the company of the murdered man. Not
a word about the jewels came out at the trial,
for the rajah had been deposed and driven
out of India: so no one had any particular
interest in them. The murder, however, was
clearly made out, and it was certain that
we must all have been concerned in it. The
three Sikhs got penal servitude for life,
and I was condemned to death, though my sentence
was afterwards commuted into the same as the
others.
"It was rather a queer position that we found
ourselves in then. There we were all four
tied by the leg and with precious little chance
of ever getting out again, while we each held
a secret which might have put each of us in
a palace if we could only have made use of
it. It was enough to make a man eat his heart
out to have to stand the kick and the cuff
of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice
to eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous
fortune was ready for him outside, just waiting
to be picked up. It might have driven me mad;
but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so
I just held on and bided my time.
"At last it seemed to me to have come. I was
changed from Agra to Madras, and from there
to Blair Island in the Andamans. There are
very few white convicts at this settlement,
and, as I had behaved well from the first,
I soon found myself a sort of privileged person.
I was given a hut in Hope Town, which is a
small place on the slopes of Mount Harriet,
and I was left pretty much to myself. It is
a dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond
our little clearings was infested with wild
cannibal natives, who were ready enough to
blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance.
There was digging, and ditching, and yam-planting,
and a dozen other things to be done, so we
were busy enough all day; though in the evening
we had a little time to ourselves. Among other
things, I learned to dispense drugs for the
surgeon, and picked up a smattering of his
knowledge. All the time I was on the lookout
for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds
of miles from any other land, and there is
little or no wind in those seas: so it was
a terribly difficult job to get away.
"The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting
young chap, and the other young officers would
meet in his rooms of an evening and play cards.
The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs,
was next to his sitting-room, with a small
window between us. Often, if I felt lonesome,
I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery,
and then, standing there, I could hear their
talk and watch their play. I am fond of a
hand at cards myself, and it was almost as
good as having one to watch the others. There
was Major Sholto, Captain Morstan, and Lieutenant
Bromley Brown, who were in command of the
native troops, and there was the surgeon himself,
and two or three prison-officials, crafty
old hands who played a nice sly safe game.
A very snug little party they used to make.
"Well, there was one thing which very soon
struck me, and that was that the soldiers
used always to lose and the civilians to win.
Mind, I don't say that there was anything
unfair, but so it was. These prison-chaps
had done little else than play cards ever
since they had been at the Andamans, and they
knew each other's game to a point, while the
others just played to pass the time and threw
their cards down anyhow. Night after night
the soldiers got up poorer men, and the poorer
they got the more keen they were to play.
Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used
to pay in notes and gold at first, but soon
it came to notes of hand and for big sums.
He sometimes would win for a few deals, just
to give him heart, and then the luck would
set in against him worse than ever. All day
he would wander about as black as thunder,
and he took to drinking a deal more than was
good for him.
"One night he lost even more heavily than
usual. I was sitting in my hut when he and
Captain Morstan came stumbling along on the
way to their quarters. They were bosom friends,
those two, and never far apart. The major
was raving about his losses.
"'It's all up, Morstan,' he was saying, as
they passed my hut. 'I shall have to send
in my papers. I am a ruined man.'
"'Nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping
him upon the shoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer
myself, but—' That was all I could hear,
but it was enough to set me thinking.
"A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling
on the beach: so I took the chance of speaking
to him.
"'I wish to have your advice, major,' said
I.
"'Well, Small, what is it?' he asked, taking
his cheroot from his lips.
"'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said I, 'who
is the proper person to whom hidden treasure
should be handed over. I know where half a
million worth lies, and, as I cannot use it
myself, I thought perhaps the best thing that
I could do would be to hand it over to the
proper authorities, and then perhaps they
would get my sentence shortened for me.'
"'Half a million, Small?' he gasped, looking
hard at me to see if I was in earnest.
"'Quite that, sir,—in jewels and pearls.
It lies there ready for any one. And the queer
thing about it is that the real owner is outlawed
and cannot hold property, so that it belongs
to the first comer.'
"'To government, Small,' he stammered,—'to
government.' But he said it in a halting fashion,
and I knew in my heart that I had got him.
"'You think, then, sir, that I should give
the information to the Governor-General?'
said I, quietly.
"'Well, well, you must not do anything rash,
or that you might repent. Let me hear all
about it, Small. Give me the facts.'
"I told him the whole story, with small changes
so that he could not identify the places.
When I had finished he stood stock still and
full of thought. I could see by the twitch
of his lip that there was a struggle going
on within him.
"'This is a very important matter, Small,'
he said, at last. 'You must not say a word
to any one about it, and I shall see you again
soon.'
"Two nights later he and his friend Captain
Morstan came to my hut in the dead of the
night with a lantern.
"'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear
that story from your own lips, Small,' said
he.
"I repeated it as I had told it before.
"'It rings true, eh?' said he. 'It's good
enough to act upon?'
"Captain Morstan nodded.
"'Look here, Small,' said the major. 'We have
been talking it over, my friend here and I,
and we have come to the conclusion that this
secret of yours is hardly a government matter,
after all, but is a private concern of your
own, which of course you have the power of
disposing of as you think best. Now, the question
is, what price would you ask for it? We might
be inclined to take it up, and at least look
into it, if we could agree as to terms.' He
tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but
his eyes were shining with excitement and
greed.
"'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I answered,
trying also to be cool, but feeling as excited
as he did, 'there is only one bargain which
a man in my position can make. I shall want
you to help me to my freedom, and to help
my three companions to theirs. We shall then
take you into partnership, and give you a
fifth share to divide between you.'
"'Hum!' said he. 'A fifth share! That is not
very tempting.'
"'It would come to fifty thousand apiece,'
said I.
"'But how can we gain your freedom? You know
very well that you ask an impossibility.'
"'Nothing of the sort,' I answered. 'I have
thought it all out to the last detail. The
only bar to our escape is that we can get
no boat fit for the voyage, and no provisions
to last us for so long a time. There are plenty
of little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or
Madras which would serve our turn well. Do
you bring one over. We shall engage to get
aboard her by night, and if you will drop
us on any part of the Indian coast you will
have done your part of the bargain.'
"'If there were only one,' he said.
"'None or all,' I answered. 'We have sworn
it. The four of us must always act together.'
"'You see, Morstan,' said he, 'Small is a
man of his word. He does not flinch from his
friend. I think we may very well trust him.'
"'It's a dirty business,' the other answered.
'Yet, as you say, the money would save our
commissions handsomely.'
"'Well, Small,' said the major, 'we must,
I suppose, try and meet you. We must first,
of course, test the truth of your story. Tell
me where the box is hid, and I shall get leave
of absence and go back to India in the monthly
relief-boat to inquire into the affair.'
"'Not so fast,' said I, growing colder as
he got hot. 'I must have the consent of my
three comrades. I tell you that it is four
or none with us.'
"'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three
black fellows to do with our agreement?'
"'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with
me, and we all go together.'
"Well, the matter ended by a second meeting,
at which Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, and
Dost Akbar were all present. We talked the
matter over again, and at last we came to
an arrangement. We were to provide both the
officers with charts of the part of the Agra
fort and mark the place in the wall where
the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to
go to India to test our story. If he found
the box he was to leave it there, to send
out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage,
which was to lie off Rutland Island, and to
which we were to make our way, and finally
to return to his duties. Captain Morstan was
then to apply for leave of absence, to meet
us at Agra, and there we were to have a final
division of the treasure, he taking the major's
share as well as his own. All this we sealed
by the most solemn oaths that the mind could
think or the lips utter. I sat up all night
with paper and ink, and by the morning I had
the two charts all ready, signed with the
sign of four,—that is, of Abdullah, Akbar,
Mahomet, and myself.
"Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long
story, and I know that my friend Mr. Jones
is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey.
I'll make it as short as I can. The villain
Sholto went off to India, but he never came
back again. Captain Morstan showed me his
name among a list of passengers in one of
the mail-boats very shortly afterwards. His
uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and
he had left the army, yet he could stoop to
treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan
went over to Agra shortly afterwards, and
found, as we expected, that the treasure was
indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all,
without carrying out one of the conditions
on which we had sold him the secret. From
that day I lived only for vengeance. I thought
of it by day and I nursed it by night. It
became an overpowering, absorbing passion
with me. I cared nothing for the law,—nothing
for the gallows. To escape, to track down
Sholto, to have my hand upon his throat,—that
was my one thought. Even the Agra treasure
had come to be a smaller thing in my mind
than the slaying of Sholto.
"Well, I have set my mind on many things in
this life, and never one which I did not carry
out. But it was weary years before my time
came. I have told you that I had picked up
something of medicine. One day when Dr. Somerton
was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander
was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods.
He was sick to death, and had gone to a lonely
place to die. I took him in hand, though he
was as venomous as a young snake, and after
a couple of months I got him all right and
able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me
then, and would hardly go back to his woods,
but was always hanging about my hut. I learned
a little of his lingo from him, and this made
him all the fonder of me.
"Tonga—for that was his name—was a fine
boatman, and owned a big, roomy canoe of his
own. When I found that he was devoted to me
and would do anything to serve me, I saw my
chance of escape. I talked it over with him.
He was to bring his boat round on a certain
night to an old wharf which was never guarded,
and there he was to pick me up. I gave him
directions to have several gourds of water
and a lot of yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes.
"He was stanch and true, was little Tonga.
No man ever had a more faithful mate. At the
night named he had his boat at the wharf.
As it chanced, however, there was one of the
convict-guard down there,—a vile Pathan
who had never missed a chance of insulting
and injuring me. I had always vowed vengeance,
and now I had my chance. It was as if fate
had placed him in my way that I might pay
my debt before I left the island. He stood
on the bank with his back to me, and his carbine
on his shoulder. I looked about for a stone
to beat out his brains with, but none could
I see. Then a queer thought came into my head
and showed me where I could lay my hand on
a weapon. I sat down in the darkness and unstrapped
my wooden leg. With three long hops I was
on him. He put his carbine to his shoulder,
but I struck him full, and knocked the whole
front of his skull in. You can see the split
in the wood now where I hit him. We both went
down together, for I could not keep my balance,
but when I got up I found him still lying
quiet enough. I made for the boat, and in
an hour we were well out at sea. Tonga had
brought all his earthly possessions with him,
his arms and his gods. Among other things,
he had a long bamboo spear, and some Andaman
cocoa-nut matting, with which I made a sort
of sail. For ten days we were beating about,
trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were
picked up by a trader which was going from
Singapore to Jiddah with a cargo of Malay
pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tonga
and I soon managed to settle down among them.
They had one very good quality: they let you
alone and asked no questions.
"Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures
that my little chum and I went through, you
would not thank me, for I would have you here
until the sun was shining. Here and there
we drifted about the world, something always
turning up to keep us from London. All the
time, however, I never lost sight of my purpose.
I would dream of Sholto at night. A hundred
times I have killed him in my sleep. At last,
however, some three or four years ago, we
found ourselves in England. I had no great
difficulty in finding where Sholto lived,
and I set to work to discover whether he had
realized the treasure, or if he still had
it. I made friends with someone who could
help me,—I name no names, for I don't want
to get any one else in a hole,—and I soon
found that he still had the jewels. Then I
tried to get at him in many ways; but he was
pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters,
besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on guard
over him.
"One day, however, I got word that he was
dying. I hurried at once to the garden, mad
that he should slip out of my clutches like
that, and, looking through the window, I saw
him lying in his bed, with his sons on each
side of him. I'd have come through and taken
my chance with the three of them, only even
as I looked at him his jaw dropped, and I
knew that he was gone. I got into his room
that same night, though, and I searched his
papers to see if there was any record of where
he had hidden our jewels. There was not a
line, however: so I came away, bitter and
savage as a man could be. Before I left I
bethought me that if I ever met my Sikh friends
again it would be a satisfaction to know that
I had left some mark of our hatred: so I scrawled
down the sign of the four of us, as it had
been on the chart, and I pinned it on his
bosom. It was too much that he should be taken
to the grave without some token from the men
whom he had robbed and befooled.
"We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting
poor Tonga at fairs and other such places
as the black cannibal. He would eat raw meat
and dance his war-dance: so we always had
a hatful of pennies after a day's work. I
still heard all the news from Pondicherry
Lodge, and for some years there was no news
to hear, except that they were hunting for
the treasure. At last, however, came what
we had waited for so long. The treasure had
been found. It was up at the top of the house,
in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's chemical laboratory.
I came at once and had a look at the place,
but I could not see how with my wooden leg
I was to make my way up to it. I learned,
however, about a trap-door in the roof, and
also about Mr. Sholto's supper-hour. It seemed
to me that I could manage the thing easily
through Tonga. I brought him out with me with
a long rope wound round his waist. He could
climb like a cat, and he soon made his way
through the roof, but, as ill luck would have
it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in the room,
to his cost. Tonga thought he had done something
very clever in killing him, for when I came
up by the rope I found him strutting about
as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised
was he when I made at him with the rope's
end and cursed him for a little blood-thirsty
imp. I took the treasure-box and let it down,
and then slid down myself, having first left
the sign of the four upon the table, to show
that the jewels had come back at last to those
who had most right to them. Tonga then pulled
up the rope, closed the window, and made off
the way that he had come.
"I don't know that I have anything else to
tell you. I had heard a waterman speak of
the speed of Smith's launch the Aurora, so
I thought she would be a handy craft for our
escape. I engaged with old Smith, and was
to give him a big sum if he got us safe to
our ship. He knew, no doubt, that there was
some screw loose, but he was not in our secrets.
All this is the truth, and if I tell it to
you, gentlemen, it is not to amuse you,—for
you have not done me a very good turn,—but
it is because I believe the best defence I
can make is just to hold back nothing, but
let all the world know how badly I have myself
been served by Major Sholto, and how innocent
I am of the death of his son."
"A very remarkable account," said Sherlock
Holmes. "A fitting wind-up to an extremely
interesting case. There is nothing at all
new to me in the latter part of your narrative,
except that you brought your own rope. That
I did not know. By the way, I had hoped that
Tonga had lost all his darts; yet he managed
to shoot one at us in the boat."
"He had lost them all, sir, except the one
which was in his blow-pipe at the time."
"Ah, of course," said Holmes. "I had not thought
of that."
"Is there any other point which you would
like to ask about?" asked the convict, affably.
"I think not, thank you," my companion answered.
"Well, Holmes," said Athelney Jones, "You
are a man to be humored, and we all know that
you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is
duty, and I have gone rather far in doing
what you and your friend asked me. I shall
feel more at ease when we have our story-teller
here safe under lock and key. The cab still
waits, and there are two inspectors down-stairs.
I am much obliged to you both for your assistance.
Of course you will be wanted at the trial.
Good-night to you."
"Good-night, gentlemen both," said Jonathan
Small.
"You first, Small," remarked the wary Jones
as they left the room. "I'll take particular
care that you don't club me with your wooden
leg, whatever you may have done to the gentleman
at the Andaman Isles."
"Well, and there is the end of our little
drama," I remarked, after we had set some
time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may
be the last investigation in which I shall
have the chance of studying your methods.
Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept
me as a husband in prospective."
He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as
much," said he. "I really cannot congratulate
you."
I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason
to be dissatisfied with my choice?" I asked.
"Not at all. I think she is one of the most
charming young ladies I ever met, and might
have been most useful in such work as we have
been doing. She had a decided genius that
way: witness the way in which she preserved
that Agra plan from all the other papers of
her father. But love is an emotional thing,
and whatever is emotional is opposed to that
true cold reason which I place above all things.
I should never marry myself, lest I bias my
judgment."
"I trust," said I, laughing, "that my judgment
may survive the ordeal. But you look weary."
"Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall
be as limp as a rag for a week."
"Strange," said I, "how terms of what in another
man I should call laziness alternate with
your fits of splendid energy and vigor."
"Yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings
of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty
spry sort of fellow. I often think of those
lines of old Goethe,—
Schade dass die Natur nur EINEN Mensch aus
Dir schuf,
Denn zum wuerdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen
der Stoff.
"By the way, a propos of this Norwood business,
you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate
in the house, who could be none other than
Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has
the undivided honor of having caught one fish
in his great haul."
"The division seems rather unfair," I remarked.
"You have done all the work in this business.
I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit,
pray what remains for you?"
"For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still
remains the cocaine-bottle." And he stretched
his long white hand up for it.
