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The Yellow Face


[In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in which my companions singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. And this not so much for the sake of his reputation for, indeed, it was when he was at his wits end that his energy and his versatility were most admirable but because where he failed it happened too often that no one else succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred, the truth was still discovered. I have noted of some half-dozen cases of the kind; the Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to recount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.]

Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercises sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest oxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when there was some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.

One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves. For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in Baker Street once more.

Beg pardon, sir, said our page-boy, as he opened the door. Theres been a gentleman here asking for you, sir.

Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. So much for afternoon walks! said he. Has this gentleman gone, then?

Yes, sir.

Didnt you ask him in?

Yes, sir; he came in.

How long did he wait?

Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir, a-walkin and a-stampin all the time he was here. I was waitin outside the door, sir, and I could hear him. At last he outs into the passage, and he cries, Is that man never goin to come? Those were his very words, sir. Youll only need to wait a little longer, says I. Then Ill wait in the open air, for I feel half choked, says he. Ill be back before long. And with that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldnt hold him back.

Well, well, you did your best, said Holmes, as we walked into our room. Its very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in need of a case, and this looks, from the mans impatience, as if it were of importance. Hullo! Thats not your pipe on the table. He must have left his behind him. a nice old brier with a good long stem of what the tobacconists call amber. I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there are in London? Some people think that a fly in it is a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values highly.

How do you know that he values it highly? I asked.

Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven and sixpence. Now it has, you see, been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and once in the amber. Each of these mends, done, as you observe, with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. The man must value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new one with the same money.

Anything else? I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about in his hand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way.

He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger, as a professor might who was lecturing on a bone.

Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest, said he. Nothing has more individuality, save perhaps watches and bootlaces. The indications here, however, are neither very marked nor very important. The owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his habits, and with no need to practise economy.

My friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but I saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his reasoning.

You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe, said I.

This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce, Holmes answered, knocking a little out on his palm. As he might get an excellent smoke for half the price, he has no need to practise economy.

And the other points?

He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gas-jets. You can see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course a match could not have done that. Why should a man hold a match to the side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a lamp without getting the bowl charred. And it is all on the right side of the pipe. From that I gather that he is a left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp, and see how naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. You might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This has always been held so. Then he has bitten through his amber. It takes a muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do that. But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall have something more interesting than his pipe to study.

An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered the room. He was well but quietly dressed in a dark gray suit, and carried a brown wide-awake in his hand. I should have put him at about thirty, though he was really some years older.

I beg your pardon, said he, with some embarrassment; I suppose I should have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact is that I am a little upset, and you must put it all down to that. He passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon a chair.

I can see that you have not slept for a night or two, said Holmes, in his easy, genial way. That tries a mans nerves more than work, and more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?

I wanted your advice, sir. I dont know what to do and my whole life seems to have gone to pieces.

You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?

Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man as a man of the world. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to God youll be able to tell me.

He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that to speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through was overriding his inclinations.

Its a very delicate thing, said he. One does not like to speak of ones domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss the conduct of ones wife with two men whom I have never seen before. Its horrible to have to do it. But Ive got to the end of my tether, and I must have advice.

My dear Mr. Grant Munro began Holmes.

Our visitor sprang from his chair. What! he cried, you know my name?

If you wish to preserve your incognito, said Holmes, smiling, I would suggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of your hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you are addressing. I was about to say that my friend and I have listened to a good many strange secrets in this room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much for you. Might I beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to furnish me with the facts of your case without further delay?

Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he found it bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could see that he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the winds, he began.

The facts are these, Mr. Holmes, said he. I am a married man, and have been so for three years. During that time my wife and I have loved each other as fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were joined. We have not had a difference, not one, in thought or word or deed. And now, since last Monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and I find that there is something in her life and in her thought of which I know as little as if she were the woman who brushes by me in the street. We are estranged, and I want to know why.

Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before I go any further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Dont let there be any mistake about that. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more than now. I know it. I feel it. I dont want to argue about that. a man can tell easily enough when a woman loves him. But theres this secret between us, and we can never be the same until it is cleared.

Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro, said Holmes, with some impatience.

Ill tell you what I know about Effies history. She was a widow when I met her first, though quite young only twenty-five. Her name then was Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was young, and lived in the town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out badly in the place, and both husband and child died of it. I have seen his death certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back to live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that her husband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of about four thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him that it returned an average of seven per cent. She had only been six months at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other, and we married a few weeks afterwards.

I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or eight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was very countrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had an inn and two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the other side of the field which faces us, and except those there were no houses until you got half way to the station. My business took me into town at certain seasons, but in summer I had less to do, and then in our country home my wife and I were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that there never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair began.

Theres one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When we married, my wife made over all her property to me rather against my will, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs went wrong. However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well, about six weeks ago she came to me.

Jack, said she, when you took my money you said that if ever I wanted any I was to ask you for it.

Certainly, said I. Its all your own.

Well, said she, I want a hundred pounds.

I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simply a new dress or something of the kind that she was after.

What on earth for? I asked.

Oh, said she, in her playful way, you said that you were only my banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.

If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money, said I.

Oh, yes, I really mean it.

And you wont tell me what you want it for?

Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.

So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time that there had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a check, and I never thought any more of the matter. It may have nothing to do with what came afterwards, but I thought it only right to mention it.

Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far from our house. There is just a field between us, but to reach it you have to go along the road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice little grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of strolling down there, for trees are always a neighborly kind of things. The cottage had been standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty two storied place, with an old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. I have stood many a time and thought what a neat little homestead it would make.

Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way, when I met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets and things lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that the cottage had at last been let. I walked past it, and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come to live so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became aware that a face was watching me out of one of the upper windows.

I dont know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but it seemed to send a chill right down my back. I was some little way off, so that I could not make out the features, but there was something unnatural and inhuman about the face. That was the impression that I had, and I moved quickly forwards to get a nearer view of the person who was watching me. But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood for five minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my impressions. I could not tell if the face were that of a man or a woman. It had been too far from me for that. But its color was what had impressed me most. It was of a livid chalky white, and with something set and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was I that I determined to see a little more of the new inmates of the cottage. I approached and knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face.

What may you be wantin? she asked, in a Northern accent.

I am your neighbor over yonder, said I, nodding towards my house. I see that you have only just moved in, so I thought that if I could be of any help to you in any 

Ay, well just ask ye when we want ye, said she, and shut the door in my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and walked home. All evening, though I tried to think of other things, my mind would still turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the woman. I determined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for she is a nervous, highly strung woman, and I had no wish that she would share the unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. I remarked to her, however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now occupied, to which she returned no reply.

I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing jest in the family that nothing could ever wake me during the night. And yet somehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slight excitement produced by my little adventure or not I know not, but I slept much more lightly than usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly conscious that something was going on in the room, and gradually became aware that my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. My lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my half-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle-light, and astonishment held me dumb. She wore an expression such as I had never seen before such as I should have thought her incapable of assuming. She was deadly pale and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as she fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed me. Then, thinking that I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the room, and an instant later I heard a sharp creaking which could only come from the hinges of the front door. I sat up in bed and rapped my knuckles against the rail to make certain that I was truly awake. Then I took my watch from under the pillow. It was three in the morning. What on this earth could my wife be doing out on the country road at three in the morning?

I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mind and trying to find some possible explanation. The more I thought, the more extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I was still puzzling over it when I heard the door gently close again, and her footsteps coming up the stairs.

Where in the world have you been, Effie? I asked as she entered.

She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I spoke, and that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there was something indescribably guilty about them. My wife had always been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her slinking into her own room, and crying out and wincing when her own husband spoke to her.

You awake, Jack! she cried, with a nervous laugh. Why, I thought that nothing could awake you.

Where have you been? I asked, more sternly.

I dont wonder that you are surprised, said she, and I could see that her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle. Why, I never remember having done such a thing in my life before. The fact is that I felt as though I were choking, and had a perfect longing for a breath of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if I had not gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and now I am quite myself again.

All the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. It was evident to me that she was saying what was false. I said nothing in reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind filled with a thousand venomous doubts and suspicions. What was it that my wife was concealing from me? Where had she been during that strange expedition? I felt that I should have no peace until I knew, and yet I shrank from asking her again after once she had told me what was false. All the rest of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory, each more unlikely than the last.

I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too disturbed in my mind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My wife seemed to be as upset as myself, and I could see from the little questioning glances which she kept shooting at me that she understood that I disbelieved her statement, and that she was at her wits end what to do. We hardly exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards I went out for a walk, that I might think the matter out in the fresh morning air.

I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the grounds, and was back in Norbury by one oclock. It happened that my way took me past the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to look at the windows, and to see if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked out at me on the day before. As I stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the door suddenly opened and my wife walked out.

I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her; but my emotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her face when our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless all concealment must be, she came forward, with a very white face and frightened eyes which belied the smile upon her lips.

Ah, Jack, she said, I have just been in to see if I can be of any assistance to our new neighbors. Why do you look at me like that, Jack? You are not angry with me?

So, said I, this is where you went during the night.

What do you mean? she cried.

You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these people, that you should visit them at such an hour?

I have not been here before.

How can you tell me what you know is false? I cried. Your very voice changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? I shall enter that cottage, and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.

No, no, Jack, for Gods sake! she gasped, in uncontrollable emotion. Then, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me back with convulsive strength.

I implore you not to do this, Jack, she cried. I swear that I will tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if you enter that cottage. Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to me in a frenzy of entreaty.

Trust me, Jack! she cried. Trust me only this once. You will never have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a secret from you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake in this. If you come home with me, all will be well. If you force your way into that cottage, all is over between us.

There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that her words arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.

I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only, said I at last. It is that this mystery comes to an end from now. You are at liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there shall be no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my knowledge. I am willing to forget those which are passed if you will promise that there shall be no more in the future.

I was sure that you would trust me, she cried, with a great sigh of relief. It shall be just as you wish. Come away oh, come away up to the house.

Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. As we went I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching us out of the upper window. What link could there be between that creature and my wife? Or how could the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen the day before be connected with her? It was a strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my mind could never know ease again until I had solved it.

For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appeared to abide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she never stirred out of the house. On the third day, however, I had ample evidence that her solemn promise was not enough to hold her back from this secret influence which drew her away from her husband and her duty.

I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40 instead of the 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered the house the maid ran into the hall with a startled face.

Where is your mistress? I asked.

I think that she has gone out for a walk, she answered.

My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairs to make sure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happened to glance out of one of the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom I had just been speaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. Then of course I saw exactly what it all meant. My wife had gone over there, and had asked the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with anger, I rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter once and forever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the lane, but I did not stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay the secret which was casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, come what might, it should be a secret no longer. I did not even knock when I reached it, but turned the handle and rushed into the passage.

It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In the kitchen a kettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in the basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom I had seen before. I ran into the other room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up the stairs, only to find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. There was no one at all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures were of the most common and vulgar description, save in the one chamber at the window of which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable and elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when I saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a fell-length photograph of my wife, which had been taken at my request only three months ago.

I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was absolutely empty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never had before. My wife came out into the hall as I entered my house; but I was too hurt and angry to speak with her, and pushing past her, I made my way into my study. She followed me, however, before I could close the door.

I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack, said she; but if you knew all the circumstances I am sure that you would forgive me.

Tell me everything, then, said I.

I cannot, Jack, I cannot, she cried.

Until you tell me who it is that has been living in that cottage, and who it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be any confidence between us, said I, and breaking away from her, I left the house. That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen her since, nor do I know anything more about this strange business. It is the first shadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not know what I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to me that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and I place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which I have not made clear, pray question me about it. But, above all, tell me quickly what I am to do, for this misery is more than I can bear.

Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this extraordinary statement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a man who is under the influence of extreme emotions. My companion sat silent for some time, with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought.

Tell me, said he at last, could you swear that this was a mans face which you saw at the window?

Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so that it is impossible for me to say.

You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it.

It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a strange rigidity about the features. When I approached, it vanished with a jerk.

How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?

Nearly two months.

Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?

No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after his death, and all her papers were destroyed.

And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you saw it.

Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire.

Did you ever meet anyone who knew her in America?

No.

Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?

No.

Or get letters from it?

No.

Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now. If the cottage is now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. If, on the other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of your coming, and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be back now, and we should clear it all up easily. Let me advise you, then, to return to Norbury, and to examine the windows of the cottage again. If you have reason to believe that it is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an hour of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of the business.

And if it is still empty?

In that case I shall come out tomorrow and talk it over with you. Goodby; and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really have a cause for it.

I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson, said my companion, as he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. What do you make of it?

It had an ugly sound, I answered.

Yes. Theres blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken.

And who is the blackmailer?

Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable room in the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my word, Watson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at the window, and I would not have missed the case for worlds.

You have a theory?

Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not turn out to be correct. This womans first husband is in that cottage.

Why do you think so?

How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this: This woman was married in America. Her husband developed some hateful qualities; or shall we say that he contracted some loathsome disease, and became a leper or an imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns to England, changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. She has been married three years, and believes that her position is quite secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of some man whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her first husband; or, we may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to the invalid. They write to the wife, and threaten to come and expose her. She asks for a hundred pounds, and endeavors to buy them off. They come in spite of it, and when the husband mentions casually to the wife that there are new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. She waits until her husband is asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavor to persuade them to leave her in peace. Having no success, she goes again next morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as she comes out. She promises him then not to go there again, but two days afterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful neighbors was too strong for her, and she made another attempt, taking down with her the photograph which had probably been demanded from her. In the midst of this interview the maid rushed in to say that the master had come home, on which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to the cottage, hurried the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way he found the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised, however, if it is still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. What do you think of my theory?

It is all surmise.

But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message from our friend at Norbury.

But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as we had finished our tea. The cottage is still tenanted, it said. Have seen the face again at the window. Will meet the seven oclock train, and will take no steps until you arrive.

He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could see in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering with agitation.

They are still there, Mr. Holmes, said he, laying his hand hard upon my friends sleeve. I saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We shall settle it now once and for all.

What is your plan, then? asked Holmes, as he walked down the dark tree-lined road.

I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the house. I wish you both to be there as witnesses.

You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wifes warning that it is better that you should not solve the mystery?

Yes, I am determined.

Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better than indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course, legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I think that it is worth it.

It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we turned from the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we stumbled after him as best we could.

There are the lights of my house, he murmured, pointing to a glimmer among the trees. And here is the cottage which I am going to enter.

We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the building close beside us. a yellow bar falling across the black foreground showed that the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story was brightly illuminated. As we looked, we saw a dark blur moving across the blind.

There is that creature! cried Grant Munro. You can see for yourselves that someone is there. Now follow me, and we shall soon know all.

We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadow and stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. I could not see her face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of entreaty.

For Gods sake, dont Jack! she cried. I had a presentiment that you would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me again, and you will never have cause to regret it.

I have trusted you too long, Effie, he cried, sternly. Leave go of me! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle this matter once and forever! He pushed her to one side, and we followed closely after him. As he threw the door open an old woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at the top, and we entered at his heels.

It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turned away as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long white gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was of the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained. Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the childs ear, a mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little coal black negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his throat.

My God! he cried. What can be the meaning of this?

I will tell you the meaning of it, cried the lady, sweeping into the room with a proud, set face. You have forced me, against my own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. My husband died at Atlanta. My child survived.

Your child?

She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. You have never seen this open.

I understood that it did not open.

She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portrait within of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing unmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent.

That is John Hebron, of Atlanta, said the lady, and a nobler man never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wed him, but never once while he lived did I for an instant regret it. It was our misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than mine. It is often so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her father was. But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her mothers pet. The little creature ran across at the words and nestled up against the ladys dress. When I left her in America, she continued, it was only because her health was weak, and the change might have done her harm. She was given to the care of a faithful Scotch woman who had once been our servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me, I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the courage to tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my weakness I turned away from my own little girl. For three years I have kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the nurse, and I knew that all was well with her. At last, however, there came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her instructions about this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbor, without my appearing to be in any way connected with her. I pushed my precautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the house during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands so that even those who might see her at the window should not gossip about there being a black child in the neighborhood. If I had been less cautious I might have been more wise, but I was half crazy with fear that you should learn the truth.

It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I should have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for excitement, and so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. But you saw me go, and that was the beginning of my troubles. Next day you had my secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. Three days later, however, the nurse and child only just escaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. And now to-night you at last know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my child and me? She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.

It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards the door.

We can talk it over more comfortably at home, said he. I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me credit for being.

Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out.

I think, said he, that we shall be of more use in London than in Norbury.

Not another word did he say of the case until late that night, when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.

Watson, said he, if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper Norbury in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.




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The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez


When I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our work for the year 1894 I confess that it is very difficult for me, out of such a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting in themselves and at the same time most conducive to a display of those peculiar powers for which my friend was famous. As I turn over the pages I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red leech and the terrible death of Crosby the banker. Here also I find an account of the Addleton tragedy and the singular contents of the ancient British barrow. The famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes also within this period, and so does the tracking and arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter of thanks from the French President and the Order of the Legion of Honour. Each of these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I am of opinion that none of them unite so many singular points of interest as the episode of Yoxley Old Place, which includes not only the lamentable death of young Willoughby Smith, but also those subsequent developments which threw so curious a light upon the causes of the crime.

It was a wild, tempestuous night towards the close of November. Holmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with a powerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon a palimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the wind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. It was strange there in the very depths of the town, with ten miles of mans handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all London was no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to the window and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy road and shining pavement. a single cab was splashing its way from the Oxford Street end.

Well, Watson, its as well we have not to turn out to-night, said Holmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. Ive done enough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So far as I can make out it is nothing more exciting than an Abbeys accounts dating from the second half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! Halloa! Halloa! Whats this?

Amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horses hoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the kerb. The cab which I had seen had pulled up at our door.

What can he want? I ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it.

Want! He wants us. And we, my poor Watson, want overcoats and cravats and goloshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight the weather. Wait a bit, though! Theres the cab off again! Theres hope yet. Hed have kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down, my dear fellow, and open the door, for all virtuous folk have been long in bed.

When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor I had no difficulty in recognising him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promising detective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a very practical interest.

Is he in? he asked, eagerly.

Come up, my dear sir, said Holmess voice from above. I hope you have no designs upon us on such a night as this.

The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon his shining waterproof. I helped him out of it while Holmes knocked a blaze out of the logs in the grate.

Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes, said he. Heres a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water and a lemon which is good medicine on a night like this. It must be something important which has brought you out in such a gale.

It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. Ive had a bustling afternoon, I promise you. Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?

Ive seen nothing later than the fifteenth century today.

Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have not missed anything. I havent let the grass grow under my feet. Its down in Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I was wired for at three-fifteen, reached Yoxley Old Place at five, conducted my investigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, and straight to you by cab.

Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?

It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can see it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at first it seemed so simple that one couldnt go wrong. Theres no motive, Mr. Holmes. Thats what bothers me I cant put my hand on a motive. Heres a man dead theres no denying that but, so far as I can see, no reason on earth why anyone should wish him harm.

Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.

Let us hear about it, said he.

Ive got my facts pretty clear, said Stanley Hopkins. All I want now is to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out, is like this. Some years ago this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was taken by an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobbling round the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. He was well liked by the few neighbours who called upon him, and he has the reputation down there of being a very learned man. His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been with him since his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character. The Professor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary about a year ago to engage a secretary. The first two that he tried were not successes; but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young man straight from the University, seems to have been just what his employer wanted. His work consisted in writing all the morning to the Professors dictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references and passages which bore upon the next days work. This Willoughby Smith has nothing against him either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man at Cambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was a decent, quiet, hardworking fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. And yet this is the lad who has met his death this morning in the Professors study under circumstances which can point only to murder.

The wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I drew closer to the fire while the young inspector slowly and point by point developed his singular narrative.

If you were to search all England, said he, I dont suppose you could find a household more self-contained or free from outside influences. Whole weeks would pass and not one of them go past the garden gate. The Professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. Young Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as his employer did. The two women had nothing to take them from the house. Mortimer the gardener, who wheels the bath-chair, is an Army pensioner an old Crimean man of excellent character. He does not live in the house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the garden. Those are the only people that you would find within the grounds of Yoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of the garden is a hundred yards from the main London to Chatham road. It opens with a latch, and there is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in.

Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is the only person who can say anything positive about the matter. It was in the forenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at the moment in hanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram was still in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises before midday. The housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of the house. Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard him at that moment pass along the passage and descend to the study immediately below her. She did not see him, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. She did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so later there was a dreadful cry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange and unnatural that it might have come either from a man or a woman. At the same instant there was a heavy thud, which shook the old house, and then all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a moment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The study door was shut, and she opened it. Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smith was stretched upon the floor. At first she could see no injury, but as she tried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the underside of his neck. It was pierced by a very small but very deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery. The instrument with which the injury had been inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him. It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiff blade. It was part of the fittings of the Professors own desk.

At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead, but on pouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyes for an instant. The Professor, he murmured it was she. The maid is prepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried desperately to say something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. Then he fell back dead.

In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, but she was just too late to catch the young mans dying words. Leaving Susan with the body, she hurried to the Professors room. He was sitting up in bed horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him that something terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swear that the Professor was still in his night-clothes, and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dress without the help of Mortimer, whose orders were to come at twelve oclock. The Professor declares that he heard the distant cry, but that he knows nothing more. He can give no explanation of the young mans last words, The Professor it was she, but imagines that they were the outcome of delirium. He believes that Willoughby Smith had not an enemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime. His first action was to send Mortimer the gardener for the local police. a little later the chief constable sent for me. Nothing was moved before I got there, and strict orders were given that no one should walk upon the paths leading to the house. It was a splendid chance of putting your theories into practice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. There was really nothing wanting.

Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes, said my companion, with a somewhat bitter smile. Well, let us hear about it. What sort of job did you make of it?

I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan, which will give you a general idea of the position of the Professors study and the various points of the case. It will help you in following my investigation.

He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he laid it across Holmess knee. I rose, and, standing behind Holmes, I studied it over his shoulder.








It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points which seem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later for yourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the house, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door, from which there is direct access to the study. Any other way would have been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also been made along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one was blocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to the Professors bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once to the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and would certainly show any footmarks.

My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious and expert criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There could be no question, however, that someone had passed along the grass border which lines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving a track. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression, but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly passed. It could only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone else had been there that morning and the rain had only begun during the night.

One moment, said Holmes. Where does this path lead to?

To the road.

How long is it?

A hundred yards or so.

At the point where the path passes through the gate you could surely pick up the tracks?

Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point.

Well, on the road itself?

No; it was all trodden into mire.

Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming or going?

It was impossible to say. There was never any outline.

A large foot or a small?

You could not distinguish.

Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.

It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since, said he. It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it cant be helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certain that you had made certain of nothing?

I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew that someone had entered the house cautiously from without. I next examined the corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken no impression of any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is a scantily-furnished room. The main article is a large writing-table with a fixed bureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawers with a central small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, the cupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing of value was kept in them. There were some papers of importance in the cupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, and the Professor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that no robbery has been committed.

I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near the bureau, and just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab was on the right side of the neck and from behind forwards, so that it is almost impossible that it could have been self-inflicted.

Unless he fell upon the knife, said Holmes.

Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife some feet away from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there are the mans own dying words. And, finally, there was this very important piece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead mans right hand.

From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. He unfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black silk cord dangling from the end of it. Willoughby Smith had excellent sight, he added. There can be no question that this was snatched from the face or the person of the assassin.

Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand and examined them with the utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose, endeavoured to read through them, went to the window and stared up the street with them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.

Thats the best I can do for you, said he. It may prove to be of some use.

The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:

Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has a remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either side of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, and probably rounded shoulders. There are indications that she has had recourse to an optician at least twice during the last few months. As her glasses are of remarkable strength and as opticians are not very numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her.

Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have been reflected upon my features.

Surely my deductions are simplicity itself, said he. It would be difficult to name any articles which afford a finer field for inference than a pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. That they belong to a woman I infer from their delicacy, and also, of course, from the last words of the dying man. As to her being a person of refinement and well dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in other respects. You will find that the clips are too wide for your nose, showing that the ladys nose was very broad at the base. This sort of nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there are a sufficient number of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or from insisting upon this point in my description. My own face is a narrow one, and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into the centre, or near the centre, of these glasses. Therefore the ladys eyes are set very near to the sides of the nose. You will perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concave and of unusual strength. a lady whose vision has been so extremely contracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics of such vision, which are seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders.

Yes, I said, I can follow each of your arguments. I confess, however, that I am unable to understand how you arrive at the double visit to the optician.

Holmes took the glasses in his hand.

You will perceive, he said, that the clips are lined with tiny bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these is discoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the other is new. Evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I should judge that the older of them has not been there more than a few months. They exactly correspond, so I gather that the lady went back to the same establishment for the second.

By George, its marvellous! cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy of admiration. To think that I had all that evidence in my hand and never knew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the London opticians.

Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell us about the case?

Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do now probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger seen on the country roads or at the railway station. We have heard of none. What beats me is the utter want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest.

Ah! There I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you want us to come out tomorrow?

If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. Theres a train from Charing Cross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley Old Place between eight and nine.

Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features of great interest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well, its nearly one, and we had best get a few hours sleep. I dare say you can manage all right on the sofa in front of the fire. Ill light my spirit-lamp and give you a cup of coffee before we start.

The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morning when we started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise over the dreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen reaches of the river, which I shall ever associate with our pursuit of the Andaman Islander in the earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey we alighted at a small station some miles from Chatham. While a horse was being put into a trap at the local inn we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at Yoxley Old Place.

Well, Wilson, any news?

No, sir, nothing.

No reports of any stranger seen?

No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger either came or went yesterday.

Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?

Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account for.

Well, its only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might stay there, or take a train without being observed. This is the garden path of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. Ill pledge my word there was no mark on it yesterday.

On which side were the marks on the grass?

This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and the flower-bed. I cant see the traces now, but they were clear to me then.

Yes, yes; someone has passed along, said Holmes, stooping over the grass border. Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must she not, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on the other an even clearer one on the soft bed?

Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand.

I saw an intent look pass over Holmess face.

You say that she must have come back this way?

Yes, sir; there is no other.

On this strip of grass?

Certainly, Mr. Holmes.

Hum! It was a very remarkable performance very remarkable. Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This garden door is usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to do but to walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would have provided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick this knife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor, leaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in this study. How long was she there? We have no means of judging.

Holmes looking at a blood stain on a wall.

Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long before about a quarter of an hour, she says.

Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room and what does she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything in the drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking it would surely have been locked up. No; it was for something in that wooden bureau. Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold a match, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?

The mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches, where it had scratched the varnish from the surface.

I noticed it, Mr. Holmes. But youll always find scratches round a keyhole.

This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines where it is cut. An old scratch would be the same colour as the surface. Look at it through my lens. Theres the varnish, too, like earth on each side of a furrow. Is Mrs. Marker there?

A sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room.

Did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?

Yes, sir.

Did you notice this scratch?

No, sir, I did not.

I am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away these shreds of varnish. Who has the key of this bureau?

The Professor keeps it on his watch-chain.

Is it a simple key?

No, sir; it is a Chubbs key.

Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a little progress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and either opens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged young Willoughby Smith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the key she makes this scratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearest object, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to make him let go his hold. The blow is a fatal one. He falls and she escapes, either with or without the object for which she has come. Is Susan the maid there? Could anyone have got away through that door after the time that you heard the cry, Susan?

No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down the stair Id have seen anyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, for I would have heard it.

That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the way she came. I understand that this other passage leads only to the Professors room. There is no exit that way?

No, sir.

We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the Professor. Halloa, Hopkins! This is very important, very important indeed. The Professors corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting.

Well, sir, what of that?

Dont you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well, I dont insist upon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it seems to me to be suggestive. Come with me and introduce me.

We passed down the passage, which was of the same length as that which led to the garden. At the end was a short flight of steps ending in a door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the Professors bedroom.

It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were stacked all round at the base of the cases. The bed was in the centre of the room, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. I have seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. His hair and beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stained with yellow around his mouth. a cigarette glowed amid the tangle of white hair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco-smoke. As he held out his hand to Holmes I perceived that it also was stained yellow with nicotine.

A smoker, Mr. Holmes? said he, speaking well-chosen English with a curious little mincing accent. Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir? I can recommend them, for I have them especially prepared by Ionides of Alexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that I have to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, but an old man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my work that is all that is left to me.

Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little darting glances all over the room.

Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco, the old man exclaimed. Alas! What a fatal interruption! Who could have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure you that after a few months training he was an admirable assistant. What do you think of the matter, Mr. Holmes?

I have not yet made up my mind.

I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light where all is so dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow is paralyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of thought. But you are a man of action you are a man of affairs. It is part of the everyday routine of your life. You can preserve your balance in every emergency. We are fortunate indeed in having you at our side.

Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst the old Professor was talking. I observed that he was smoking with extraordinary rapidity. It was evident that he shared our hosts liking for the fresh Alexandrian cigarettes.

Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow, said the old man. That is my MAGNUM OPUS the pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of the documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work which will cut deep at the very foundations of revealed religion. With my enfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able to complete it now that my assistant has been taken from me. Dear me, Mr. Holmes; why, you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself.

Holmes smiled.

I am a connoisseur, said he, taking another cigarette from the box his fourth and lighting it from the stub of that which he had finished. I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram, since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime and could know nothing about it. I would only ask this. What do you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: The Professor it was she?

The Professor shook his head.

Susan is a country girl, said he, and you know the incredible stupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured some incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into this meaningless message.

I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?

Possibly an accident; possibly I only breathe it among ourselves a suicide. Young men have their hidden troubles some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable supposition than murder.

But the eyeglasses?

Ah! I am only a student a man of dreams. I cannot explain the practical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gages may take strange shapes. By all means take another cigarette. It is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. a fan, a glove, glasses who knows what article may be carried as a token or treasured when a man puts an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell. It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smith has met his fate by his own hand.

Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigarette after cigarette.

Tell me, Professor Coram, he said, at last, what is in that cupboard in the bureau?

Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poor wife, diplomas of Universities which have done me honour. Here is the key. You can look for yourself.

Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant; then he handed it back.

No; I hardly think that it would help me, said he. I should prefer to go quietly down to your garden and turn the whole matter over in my head. There is something to be said for the theory of suicide which you have put forward. We must apologize for having intruded upon you, Professor Coram, and I promise that we wont disturb you until after lunch. At two oclock we will come again and report to you anything which may have happened in the interval.

Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden path for some time in silence.

Have you a clue? I asked, at last.

It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked, said he. It is possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.

My dear Holmes, I exclaimed, how on earth 

Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, theres no harm done. Of course, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take a shortcut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let us enjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her.

I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readily established terms of confidence with them. In half the time which he had named he had captured the housekeepers goodwill, and was chatting with her as if he had known her for years.

Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke something terrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. Ive seen that room of a morning well, sir, youd have thought it was a London fog. Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the Professor. His health well, I dont know that its better nor worse for the smoking.

Ah! said Holmes, but it kills the appetite.

Well, I dont know about that, sir.

I suppose the Professor eats hardly anything?

Well, he is variable. Ill say that for him.

Ill wager he took no breakfast this morning, and wont face his lunch after all the cigarettes I saw him consume.

Well, youre out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable big breakfast this morning. I dont know when Ive known him make a better one, and hes ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. Im surprised myself, for since I came into that room yesterday and saw young Mr. Smith lying there on the floor I couldnt bear to look at food. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the Professor hasnt let it take his appetite away.

We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gone down to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who had been seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previous morning. As to my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I had never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even the news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding with Holmess description, and wearing either spectacles or eyeglasses, failed to rouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when Susan, who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed Mr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he had only returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could not myself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceived that Holmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed in his brain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch. Two oclock, gentlemen, said he. We must go up and have it out with our friend the Professor.

The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dish bore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper had credited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white mane and his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in his mouth. He had been dressed and was seated in an arm-chair by the fire.

Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet? He shoved the large tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards my companion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, and between them they tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or two we were all on our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places. When we rose again I observed that Holmess eyes were shining and his cheeks tinged with colour. Only at a crisis have I seen those battle-signals flying.

Yes, said he, I have solved it.

Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a sneer quivered over the gaunt features of the old Professor.

Indeed! In the garden?

No, here.

Here! When?

This instant.

You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You compel me to tell you that this is too serious a matter to be treated in such a fashion.

I have forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor Coram, and I am sure that it is sound. What your motives are or what exact part you play in this strange business I am not yet able to say. In a few minutes I shall probably hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will reconstruct what is past for your benefit, so that you may know the information which I still require.

A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention of possessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. She had a key of her own. I have had an opportunity of examining yours, and I do not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon the varnish would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore, and she came, so far as I can read the evidence, without your knowledge to rob you.

The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. This is most interesting and instructive, said he. Have you no more to add? Surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also say what has become of her.

I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was seized by your secretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe I am inclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassin does not come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done she rushed wildly away from the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her she had lost her glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted she was really helpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which she imagined to be that by which she had come both were lined with cocoanut matting and it was only when it was too late that she understood that she had taken the wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off behind her. What was she to do? She could not go back. She could not remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted a stair, pushed open a door, and found herself in your room.




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