The Return of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  II.--The Adventure of the Norwood Builder.

  "FROM the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr. SherlockHolmes, "London has become a singularly uninteresting city since thedeath of the late lamented Professor Moriarty."

  "I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agreewith you," I answered.

  "Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, as he pushedback his chair from the breakfast-table. "The community is certainlythe gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist,whose occupation has gone. With that man in the field one's morningpaper presented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallesttrace, Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell methat the great malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors ofthe edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in thecentre. Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage--to the manwho held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. To thescientific student of the higher criminal world no capital in Europeoffered the advantages which London then possessed. But now----" Heshrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of thingswhich he had himself done so much to produce.

  At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for some months, andI, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the oldquarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased mysmall Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur thehighest price that I ventured to ask--an incident which only explaineditself some years later when I found that Verner was a distant relationof Holmes's, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.

  Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated,for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the caseof the papers of Ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair ofthe Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives.His cold and proud nature was always averse, however, to anything in theshape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent termsto say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes--aprohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed.

  Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsicalprotest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion,when our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell,followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone werebeating on the outer door with his fist. As it opened there came atumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and aninstant later a wild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, andpalpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us,and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology wasneeded for this unceremonious entry.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I am nearlymad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane."

  He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both hisvisit and its manner; but I could see by my companion's unresponsiveface that it meant no more to him than to me.

  "Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his case across."I am sure that with your symptoms my friend Dr. Watson here wouldprescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last fewdays. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if youwould sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and quietly who youare and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name as if I shouldrecognise it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts thatyou are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I knownothing whatever about you."

  Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for meto follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, thesheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which hadprompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement.

  "Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in addition I am the mostunfortunate man at this moment in London. For Heaven's sake don'tabandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finishedmy story, make them give me time so that I may tell you the wholetruth. I could go to gaol happy if I knew that you were working for meoutside."

  "Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati--most interesting.On what charge do you expect to be arrested?"

  "Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood."

  My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, I amafraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.

  "Dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at breakfast that I wassaying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappearedout of our papers."

  Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DAILYTELEGRAPH, which still lay upon Holmes's knee.

  "If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what theerrand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my nameand my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." He turned it over toexpose the central page. "Here it is, and with your permission Iwill read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The head-lines are:'Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well-knownBuilder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That isthe clue which they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know thatit leads infallibly to me. I have been followed from London BridgeStation, and I am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant toarrest me. It will break my mother's heart--it will break her heart!"He wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backwards andforwards in his chair.

  I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being theperpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsomein a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes and aclean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have beenabout twenty-seven; his dress and bearing that of a gentleman. From thepocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsedpapers which proclaimed his profession.

  "We must use what time we have," said Holmes. "Watson, would youhave the kindness to take the paper and to read me the paragraph inquestion?"

  Underneath the vigorous head-lines which our client had quoted I readthe following suggestive narrative:--

  Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at LowerNorwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. JonasOldacre is a well-known resident of that suburb, where he has carriedon his business as a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre is a bachelor,fifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the Sydenhamend of the road of that name. He has had the reputation of being aman of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. For some years he haspractically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to haveamassed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists, however,at the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarmwas given that one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon uponthe spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossibleto arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed.Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinaryaccident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime. Surprisewas expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment fromthe scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed that he haddisappeared from the house. An examination of his room revealed that thebed had not been slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open,that a number of important papers were scattered about the room, and,finally, that there were signs of a murderous struggle, slight tracesof blood being found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, whichalso showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr. JonasOldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, andthe stick found has been identified as the property of this person, whois a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partnerof Graham and McFarlane, of 426, Gresham Buildings, E.C. The policebelieve that they have evidence in their possession which suppliesa very convincing motive for the crime,
and altogether it cannot bedoubted that sensational developments will follow.

  LATER.--It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlanehas actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. JonasOldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. Therehave been further and sinister developments in the investigation atNorwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunatebuilder it is now known that the French windows of his bedroom (which ison the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks asif some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile, and,finally, it is asserted that charred remains have been found among thecharcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensationalcrime has been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in hisown bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across tothe wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of thecrime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left inthe experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who isfollowing up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity.

  Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and finger-tips together tothis remarkable account.

  "The case has certainly some points of interest," said he, in hislanguid fashion. "May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, howit is that you are still at liberty, since there appears to be enoughevidence to justify your arrest?"

  "I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents, Mr. Holmes;but last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre,I stayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my business from there. Iknew nothing of this affair until I was in the train, when I read whatyou have just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my position,and I hurried to put the case into your hands. I have no doubt that Ishould have been arrested either at my City office or at my home. Aman followed me from London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt--GreatHeaven, what is that?"

  It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon thestair. A moment later our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway.Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemenoutside.

  "Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said Lestrade.

  Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.

  "I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of LowerNorwood."

  McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into hischair once more like one who is crushed.

  "One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half an hour more or less can makeno difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us an accountof this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing it up."

  "I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up," said Lestrade,grimly.

  "None the less, with your permission, I should be much interested tohear his account."

  "Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, foryou have been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we oweyou a good turn at Scotland Yard," said Lestrade. "At the same time Imust remain with my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anythinghe may say will appear in evidence against him."

  "I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I ask is that you shouldhear and recognise the absolute truth."

  Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half an hour," said he.

  "I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I knew nothing of Mr.Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago myparents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was verymuch surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clock in theafternoon, he walked into my office in the City. But I was still moreastonished when he told me the object of his visit. He had in his handseveral sheets of a note-book, covered with scribbled writing--here theyare--and he laid them on my table.

  "'Here is my will,' said he. 'I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it intoproper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.'

  "I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when Ifound that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me.He was a strange little, ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, andwhen I looked up at him I found his keen grey eyes fixed upon me withan amused expression. I could hardly believe my own senses as I read theterms of the will; but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardlyany living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, and thathe had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assuredthat his money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could only stammerout my thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed bymy clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I haveexplained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed methat there were a number of documents--building leases, title-deeds,mortgages, scrip, and so forth--which it was necessary that I should seeand understand. He said that his mind would not be easy until the wholething was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house atNorwood that night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters.'Remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair untileverything is settled. We will keep it as a little surprise forthem.' He was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise itfaithfully.

  "You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse himanything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desire wasto carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a telegram home,therefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it wasimpossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told methat he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might notbe home before that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house,however, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I found him--"

  "One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the door?"

  "A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper."

  "And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?"

  "Exactly," said McFarlane.

  "Pray proceed."

  McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then continued his narrative:--

  "I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supperwas laid out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, inwhich there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass ofdocuments, which we went over together. It was between eleven and twelvewhen we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper.He showed me out through his own French window, which had been open allthis time."

  "Was the blind down?" asked Holmes.

  "I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, Iremember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I couldnot find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy; I shall see a gooddeal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come backto claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made upin packets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back toBlackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothingmore until I read of this horrible affair in the morning."

  "Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?" said Lestrade,whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkableexplanation.

  "Not until I have been to Blackheath."

  "You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade.

  "Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have meant," said Holmes, withhis enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than hewould care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut throughthat which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at mycompanion.

  "I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. SherlockHolmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at thedoor and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched young manarose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room. Theofficers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.

  Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will,and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face.

&nb
sp; "There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?"said he, pushing them over.

  The official looked at them with a puzzled expression.

  "I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the secondpage, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print," saidhe; "but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three placeswhere I cannot read it at all."

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

  "Well, what do YOU make of it?"

  "That it was written in a train; the good writing represents stations,the bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points.A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on asuburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a greatcity could there be so quick a succession of points. Granting that hiswhole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was anexpress, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge."

  Lestrade began to laugh.

  "You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr.Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?"

  "Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that thewill was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It iscurious--is it not?--that a man should draw up so important a documentin so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think it wasgoing to be of much practical importance. If a man drew up a will whichhe did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so."

  "Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time," saidLestrade.

  "Oh, you think so?"

  "Don't you?"

  "Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet."

  "Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what COULD be clear? Here is ayoung man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dies he willsucceed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, buthe arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client thatnight; he waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, andthen in the solitude of a man's room he murders him, burns his body inthe wood-pile, and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains inthe room and also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that heimagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if thebody were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of hisdeath--traces which for some reason must have pointed to him. Is allthis not obvious?"

  "It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious,"said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your other great qualities;but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this youngman, would you choose the very night after the will had been made tocommit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so veryclose a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose anoccasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has letyou in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal thebody and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal?Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely."

  "As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminalis often flurried and does things which a cool man would avoid. He wasvery likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory thatwould fit the facts."

  "I could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said Holmes. "Here, forexample, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a freepresent of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evidentvalue. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of whichis only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes astick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burningthe body."

  "Why should the tramp burn the body?"

  "For the matter of that why should McFarlane?"

  "To hide some evidence."

  "Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had beencommitted."

  "And why did the tramp take nothing?"

  "Because they were papers that he could not negotiate."

  Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was lessabsolutely assured than before.

  "Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while youare finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will show whichis right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we knownone of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man inthe world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-lawand would come into them in any case."

  My friend seemed struck by this remark.

  "I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very stronglyin favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that thereare other theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Goodmorning! I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in atNorwood and see how you are getting on."

  When the detective departed my friend rose and made his preparationsfor the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial taskbefore him.

  "My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into his frock-coat,"must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath."

  "And why not Norwood?"

  "Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to theheels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake ofconcentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens tobe the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that thelogical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw somelight upon the first incident--the curious will, so suddenly made, andto so unexpected an heir. It may do something to simplify what followed.No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospectof danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you. I trustthat when I see you in the evening I will be able to report that I havebeen able to do something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrownhimself upon my protection."

  It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a glance at hishaggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which he had startedhad not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin,endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung downthe instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures.

  "It's all going wrong, Watson--all as wrong as it can go. I kept a boldface before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once thefellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instinctsare one way and all the facts are the other, and I much fear thatBritish juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence whenthey will give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's facts."

  "Did you go to Blackheath?"

  "Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the latelamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. The father wasaway in search of his son. The mother was at home--a little, fluffy,blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, shewould not admit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would notexpress either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. Onthe contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that she wasunconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police, for,of course, if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion itwould predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'He was more like amalignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said she, 'and he alwayswas, ever since he was a young man.'

  "'You knew him at that time?' said I.

  "'Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. ThankHeaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better,if a poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard ashocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I wasso horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more todo with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced aphotograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife.'That is my own photograph,' she said. 'He sent it to me in that state,with his curse, upon my wedding morning.'

  "'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has
leftall his property to your son.'

  "'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive,'she cried, with a proper spirit. 'There is a God in Heaven, Mr. Holmes,and that same God who has punished that wicked man will show in His owngood time that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'

  "Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which wouldhelp our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. Igave it up at last and off I went to Norwood.

  "This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick,standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in frontof it. To the right and some distance back from the road was thetimber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan ona leaf of my note-book. This window on the left is the one which opensinto Oldacre's room. You can look into it from the road, you see. Thatis about the only bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade wasnot there, but his head constable did the honours. They had just made agreat treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking among the ashesof the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remains theyhad secured several discoloured metal discs. I examined them withcare, and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons. I evendistinguished that one of them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' whowas Oldacre's tailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully for signsand traces, but this drought has made everything as hard as iron.Nothing was to be seen save that some body or bundle had been draggedthrough a low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. Allthat, of course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about thelawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hourno wiser than before.

  "Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also.The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolorations, butundoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the markswere slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client.He admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet,but none of any third person, which again is a trick for the otherside. They were piling up their score all the time and we were at astandstill.

  "Only one little gleam of hope did I get--and yet it amounted tonothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had beentaken out and left on the table. The papers had been made up into sealedenvelopes, one or two of which had been opened by the police. They werenot, so far as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-bookshow that Mr. Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But itseemed to me that all the papers were not there. There were allusions tosome deeds--possibly the more valuable--which I could not find. This, ofcourse, if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argumentagainst himself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he wouldshortly inherit it?

  "Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, I triedmy luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name, a little,dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tellus something if she would--I am convinced of it. But she was as close aswax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wishedher hand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed athalf-past ten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she couldhear nothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to thebest of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by thealarm of fire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had heany enemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himselfvery much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. Shehad seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clotheswhich he had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for it had notrained for a month. It burned like tinder, and by the time she reachedthe spot nothing could be seen but flames. She and all the firemensmelled the burned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the papers,nor of Mr. Oldacre's private affairs.

  "So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet--andyet--"--he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction--"I KNOWit's all wrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that hasnot come out, and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulkydefiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However,there's no good talking any more about it, Watson; but unless some luckychance comes our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will notfigure in that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patientpublic will sooner or later have to endure."

  "Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with any jury?"

  "That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember thatterrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87?Was there ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?"

  "It is true."

  "Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory this man islost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presentedagainst him, and all further investigation has served to strengthen it.By the way, there is one curious little point about those papers whichmay serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over thebank-book I found that the low state of the balance was principally dueto large cheques which have been made out during the last year to Mr.Cornelius. I confess that I should be interested to know who thisMr. Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very largetransactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair?Cornelius might be a broker, but we have found no scrip to correspondwith these large payments. Failing any other indication my researchesmust now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentlemanwho has cashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow, that ourcase will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which willcertainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard."

  I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, butwhen I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his brighteyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round hischair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions ofthe morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table.

  "What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing it across.

  It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:--

  "IMPORTANT FRESH EVIDENCE TO HAND. MCFARLANE'S GUILT DEFINITELY ESTABLISHED. ADVISE YOU TO ABANDON CASE. --LESTRADE."

  "This sounds serious," said I.

  "It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmes answered,with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be premature to abandon the case.After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and maypossibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestradeimagines. Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together andsee what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your company and yourmoral support to-day."

  My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiaritiesthat in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and Ihave known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted frompure inanition. "At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force fordigestion," he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. I wasnot surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched mealbehind him and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid sightseerswere still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was just such asuburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met us, hisface flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant.

  "Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? Have you foundyour tramp?" he cried.

  "I have formed no conclusion whatever," my companion answered.

  "But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct; so youmust acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time,Mr. Holmes."

  "You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred," saidHolmes.

  Lestrade laughed loudly.

  "You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do," said he."A man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he, Dr. Watson?Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and
I think I can convince youonce for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime."

  He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond.

  "This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hatafter the crime was done," said he. "Now, look at this." With dramaticsuddenness he struck a match and by its light exposed a stain of bloodupon the whitewashed wall. As he held the match nearer I saw that it wasmore than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb.

  "Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes."

  "Yes, I am doing so."

  "You are aware that no two thumb marks are alike?"

  "I have heard something of the kind."

  "Well, then, will you please compare that print with this wax impressionof young McFarlane's right thumb, taken by my orders this morning?"

  As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain it did not takea magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the samethumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost.

  "That is final," said Lestrade.

  "Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed.

  "It is final," said Holmes.

  Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. Anextraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inwardmerriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It seemed to me thathe was making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack oflaughter.

  "Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well, now, who would have thoughtit? And how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such a nice youngman to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment, isit not, Lestrade?"

  "Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cocksure, Mr.Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence was maddening, but we couldnot resent it.

  "What a providential thing that this young man should press his rightthumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a verynatural action, too, if you come to think of it." Holmes was outwardlycalm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as hespoke. "By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?"

  "It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the night constable'sattention to it."

  "Where was the night constable?"

  "He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was committed, soas to see that nothing was touched."

  "But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?"

  "Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination of thehall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as you see."

  "No, no, of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that the mark wasthere yesterday?"

  Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of his mind.I confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious manner andat his rather wild observation.

  "I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of gaol in thedead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself,"said Lestrade. "I leave it to any expert in the world whether that isnot the mark of his thumb."

  "It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb."

  "There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am a practical man, Mr.Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions. Ifyou have anything to say you will find me writing my report in thesitting-room."

  Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to detectgleams of amusement in his expression.

  "Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not?" said he."And yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopesfor our client."

  "I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I was afraid it was allup with him."

  "I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The fact isthat there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which ourfriend attaches so much importance."

  "Indeed, Holmes! What is it?"

  "Only this: that I KNOW that that mark was not there when I examined thehall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round inthe sunshine."

  With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth of hopewas returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden.Holmes took each face of the house in turn and examined it with greatinterest. He then led the way inside and went over the whole buildingfrom basement to attics. Most of the rooms were unfurnished, butnone the less Holmes inspected them all minutely. Finally, on the topcorridor, which ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again wasseized with a spasm of merriment.

  "There are really some very unique features about this case, Watson,"said he. "I think it is time now that we took our friend Lestrade intoour confidence. He has had his little smile at our expense, and perhapswe may do as much by him if my reading of this problem proves to becorrect. Yes, yes; I think I see how we should approach it."

  The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when Holmesinterrupted him.

  "I understood that you were writing a report of this case," said he.

  "So I am."

  "Don't you think it may be a little premature? I can't help thinkingthat your evidence is not complete."

  Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid downhis pen and looked curiously at him.

  "What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?"

  "Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen."

  "Can you produce him?"

  "I think I can."

  "Then do so."

  "I will do my best. How many constables have you?"

  "There are three within call."

  "Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if they are all large, able-bodiedmen with powerful voices?"

  "I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices haveto do with it."

  "Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things aswell," said Holmes. "Kindly summon your men, and I will try."

  Five minutes later three policemen had assembled in the hall.

  "In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw," saidHolmes. "I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it willbe of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom I require.Thank you very much. I believe you have some matches in your pocket,Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the toplanding."

  As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outsidethree empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalledby Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring atmy friend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each otheracross his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurerwho is performing a trick.

  "Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water?Put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side. NowI think that we are all ready."

  Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry.

  "I don't know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr. SherlockHolmes," said he. "If you know anything, you can surely say it withoutall this tomfoolery."

  "I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason foreverything that I do. You may possibly remember that you chaffed me alittle some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge, soyou must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I ask you,Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of thestraw?"

  I did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of grey smoke swirled downthe corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed.

  "Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. Might Iask you all to join in the cry of 'Fire!'? Now, then; one, two, three--"

  "Fire!" we all yelled.

  "Thank you. I will trouble you once again."

  "Fire!"

  "Just once more, gentlemen, and all together."

  "Fire!" The shout must have rung over Norwood.

  It had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. A door
suddenlyflew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of thecorridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit outof its burrow.

  "Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson, a bucket of water over thestraw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with yourprincipal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre."

  The detective stared at the new-comer with blank amazement. The latterwas blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at usand at the smouldering fire. It was an odious face--crafty, vicious,malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and white eyelashes.

  "What's this, then?" said Lestrade at last. "What have you been doingall this time, eh?"

  Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red faceof the angry detective.

  "I have done no harm."

  "No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. If itwasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not havesucceeded."

  The wretched creature began to whimper.

  "I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke."

  "Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh on your side, I promiseyou. Take him down and keep him in the sitting-room until I come. Mr.Holmes," he continued, when they had gone, "I could not speak before theconstables, but I don't mind saying, in the presence of Dr. Watson,that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it is amystery to me how you did it. You have saved an innocent man's life,and you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined myreputation in the Force."

  Holmes smiled and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.

  "Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that yourreputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make a few alterations inthat report which you were writing, and they will understand how hard itis to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector Lestrade."

  "And you don't want your name to appear?"

  "Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the creditalso at some distant day when I permit my zealous historian to lay outhis foolscap once more--eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rathas been lurking."

  A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feetfrom the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit withinby slits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture and a supply offood and water were within, together with a number of books and papers.

  "There's the advantage of being a builder," said Holmes, as we cameout. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without anyconfederate--save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom Ishould lose no time in adding to your bag, Lestrade."

  "I'll take your advice. But how did you know of this place, Mr. Holmes?"

  "I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house. When Ipaced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the correspondingone below, it was pretty clear where he was. I thought he had not thenerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, havegone in and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself;besides, I owed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff inthe morning."

  "Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in theworld did you know that he was in the house at all?"

  "The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was final; and so it was, in avery different sense. I knew it had not been there the day before. I paya good deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed,and I had examined the hall and was sure that the wall was clear.Therefore, it had been put on during the night."

  "But how?"

  "Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre gotMcFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the softwax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally that I dare say theyoung man himself has no recollection of it. Very likely it just sohappened, and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put itto. Brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck himwhat absolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane byusing that thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him totake a wax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood ashe could get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall duringthe night, either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper.If you examine among those documents which he took with him intohis retreat I will lay you a wager that you find the seal with thethumb-mark upon it."

  "Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's all as clear as crystal, asyou put it. But what is the object of this deep deception, Mr. Holmes?"

  It was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner hadchanged suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher.

  "Well, I don't think that is very hard to explain. A very deep,malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now awaiting usdownstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlane's mother?You don't! I told you that you should go to Blackheath first and Norwoodafterwards. Well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankledin his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed forvengeance, but never seen his chance. During the last year or two thingshave gone against him--secret speculation, I think--and he finds himselfin a bad way. He determines to swindle his creditors, and for thispurpose he pays large cheques to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, Iimagine, himself under another name. I have not traced these chequesyet, but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at someprovincial town where Oldacre from time to time led a double existence.He intended to change his name altogether, draw this money, and vanish,starting life again elsewhere."

  "Well, that's likely enough."

  "It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit offhis track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge uponhis old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had beenmurdered by her only child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and hecarried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which would givean obvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his ownparents, the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remainsand buttons in the wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net fromwhich it seemed to me a few hours ago that there was no possible escape.But he had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when tostop. He wished to improve that which was already perfect--to draw therope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate victim--and sohe ruined all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There are just one or twoquestions that I would ask him."

  The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour with a policemanupon each side of him.

  "It was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke, nothing more," he whinedincessantly. "I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in orderto see the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure that you would notbe so unjust as to imagine that I would have allowed any harm to befallpoor young Mr. McFarlane."

  "That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade. "Anyhow, we shall have youon a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder."

  "And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the bankingaccount of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes.

  The little man started and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend.

  "I have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "Perhaps I'll pay mydebt some day."

  Holmes smiled indulgently.

  "I fancy that for some few years you will find your time very fullyoccupied," said he. "By the way, what was it you put into the wood-pilebesides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You won'ttell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well, I dare say that acouple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charredashes. If ever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serveyour turn."

  *****

  THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 26 DECEMBER, 1903 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.