X.--The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez.
WHEN I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain ourwork 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 mostinteresting in themselves and at the same time most conducive to adisplay of those peculiar powers for which my friend was famous. As Iturn over the pages I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the redleech and the terrible death of Crosby the banker. Here also I find anaccount of the Addleton tragedy and the singular contents of the ancientBritish barrow. The famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes alsowithin this period, and so does the tracking and arrest of Huret, theBoulevard assassin--an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letterof thanks from the French President and the Order of the Legion ofHonour. Each of these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I amof opinion that none of them unite so many singular points of interestas the episode of Yoxley Old Place, which includes not only thelamentable death of young Willoughby Smith, but also those subsequentdevelopments which threw so curious a light upon the causes of thecrime.
It was a wild, tempestuous night towards the close of November. Holmesand I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with apowerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upona palimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside thewind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against thewindows. It was strange there in the very depths of the town, with tenmiles of man's handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip ofNature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all Londonwas no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to thewindow and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lampsgleamed on the expanse of muddy road and shining pavement. A single cabwas splashing its way from the Oxford Street end.
"Well, Watson, it's as well we have not to turn out to-night," saidHolmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. "I've doneenough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So far as I canmake out it is nothing more exciting than an Abbey's accounts datingfrom the second half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! halloa! halloa!What's this?"
Amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horse'shoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the kerb. Thecab 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 cravatsand goloshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight the weather.Wait a bit, though! There's the cab off again! There's hope yet. He'dhave kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down, my dear fellow, andopen 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 nodifficulty in recognising him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promisingdetective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a verypractical interest.
"Is he in?" he asked, eagerly.
"Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes's voice from above. "I hope you haveno designs upon us on such a night as this."
The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon his shiningwaterproof. I helped him out of it while Holmes knocked a blaze out ofthe logs in the grate.
"Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes," said he. "Here'sa cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water and alemon which is good medicine on a night like this. It must be somethingimportant which has brought you out in such a gale."
"It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling afternoon, I promise you.Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?"
"I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day."
"Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have notmissed anything. I haven't let the grass grow under my feet. It's downin Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I waswired for at three-fifteen, reached Yoxley Old Place at five, conductedmy investigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, andstraight 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 cansee it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at firstit seemed so simple that one couldn't go wrong. There's no motive, Mr.Holmes. That's what bothers me--I can't put my hand on a motive. Here'sa man dead--there's no denying that--but, so far as I can see, no reasonon earth why anyone should wish him harm."
Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.
"Let us hear about it," said he.
"I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley Hopkins. "All I want nowis 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, wastaken by an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He wasan invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobblinground the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by thegardener in a bath-chair. He was well liked by the few neighbours whocalled upon him, and he has the reputation down there of being a verylearned man. His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper,Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been with himsince his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character. TheProfessor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary abouta year ago to engage a secretary. The first two that he tried werenot successes; but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young manstraight from the University, seems to have been just what his employerwanted. His work consisted in writing all the morning to the Professor'sdictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references andpassages which bore upon the next day's work. This Willoughby Smith hasnothing against him either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man atCambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was adecent, 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 theProfessor's study under circumstances which can point only to murder."
The wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I drew closer tothe fire while the young inspector slowly and point by point developedhis singular narrative.
"If you were to search all England," said he, "I don't suppose you couldfind a household more self-contained or free from outside influences.Whole weeks would pass and not one of them go past the garden gate. TheProfessor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. YoungSmith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as hisemployer did. The two women had nothing to take them from thehouse. Mortimer the gardener, who wheels the bath-chair, is an Armypensioner--an old Crimean man of excellent character. He does not livein the house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of thegarden. Those are the only people that you would find within the groundsof Yoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of the garden is ahundred yards from the main London to Chatham road. It opens with alatch, and there is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in.
"Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is the onlyperson who can say anything positive about the matter. It was in theforenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at the moment inhanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram wasstill in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises before midday.The housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of thehouse. Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as asitting-room; but the maid heard him at that moment pass along thepassage and descend to the study immediately below her. She did notsee him, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firmtread. She did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so laterthere was a dreadful cry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarsescream, so strange and unnatural that it might have come either from aman or a woman. At the same instant there was a heavy thud, which shookthe old house, and then all was silence. The maid stood petrified
for amoment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The studydoor was shut, and she opened it. Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smith wasstretched upon the floor. At first she could see no injury, but as shetried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the underside ofhis neck. It was pierced by a very small but very deep wound, which haddivided the carotid artery. The instrument with which the injury hadbeen inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him. It was one of those smallsealing-wax knives to be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, withan ivory handle and a stiff blade. It was part of the fittings of theProfessor's own desk.
"At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead, but onpouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyesfor an instant. 'The Professor,' he murmured--'it was she.' The maid isprepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried desperatelyto say something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. Then hefell back dead.
"In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, butshe was just too late to catch the young man's dying words. LeavingSusan with the body, she hurried to the Professor's room. He was sittingup in bed horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince himthat something terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swearthat the Professor was still in his night-clothes, and, indeed, it wasimpossible for him to dress without the help of Mortimer, whose orderswere to come at twelve o'clock. The Professor declares that he heard thedistant cry, but that he knows nothing more. He can give no explanationof the young man's last words, 'The Professor--it was she,' but imaginesthat they were the outcome of delirium. He believes that WilloughbySmith had not an enemy in the world, and can give no reason for thecrime. His first action was to send Mortimer the gardener for the localpolice. A little later the chief constable sent for me. Nothing wasmoved before I got there, and strict orders were given that no oneshould walk upon the paths leading to the house. It was a splendidchance of putting your theories into practice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.There was really nothing wanting."
"Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my companion, with a somewhat bittersmile. "Well, let us hear about it. What sort of job did you make ofit?"
"I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan, whichwill give you a general idea of the position of the Professor's studyand the various points of the case. It will help you in following myinvestigation."
He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he laid itacross Holmes's knee. I rose, and, standing behind Holmes, I studied itover his shoulder.
GRAPHIC
"It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the pointswhich seem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later foryourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered thehouse, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and theback door, from which there is direct access to the study. Any other waywould have been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also beenmade along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one wasblocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight tothe Professor's bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at onceto the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and wouldcertainly show any footmarks.
"My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious and expertcriminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There could be noquestion, however, that someone had passed along the grass border whichlines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving atrack. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression,but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly passed. Itcould only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyoneelse had been there that morning and the rain had only begun during thenight."
"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 surelypick 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 orgoing?"
"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," saidhe. "It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, itcan't be helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certainthat you had made certain of nothing?"
"I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew that someonehad entered the house cautiously from without. I next examined thecorridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken noimpression of any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is ascantily-furnished room. The main article is a large writing-table witha fixed bureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawerswith a central small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, thecupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothingof value was kept in them. There were some papers of importance in thecupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, andthe Professor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that norobbery 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 wason the right side of the neck and from behind forwards, so that it isalmost 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 feetaway from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there arethe man's own dying words. And, finally, there was this very importantpiece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man's right hand."
From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. He unfoldedit and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of blacksilk cord dangling from the end of it. "Willoughby Smith had excellentsight," he added. "There can be no question that this was snatched fromthe face or the person of the assassin."
Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand and examined them withthe utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose, endeavouredto read through them, went to the window and stared up the street withthem, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, andfinally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a fewlines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.
"That's the best I can do for you," said he. "It may prove to be of someuse."
The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:--
"Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has aremarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either sideof it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, and probablyrounded shoulders. There are indications that she has had recourse to anoptician at least twice during the last few months. As her glasses areof remarkable strength and as opticians are not very numerous, thereshould be no difficulty in tracing her."
Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have beenreflected upon my features.
"Surely my deductions are simplicity itself," said he. "It would bedifficult to name any articles which afford a finer field for inferencethan a pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. Thatthey 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 ofrefinement and well dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomelymounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore suchglasses could be slatternly in other respects. You will find that theclips are too wide for your nose, showing that the lady's nose was verybroad 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 beingdogmatic or from insisting upon this point in my description. My ownface is a narrow one, and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into thecentre, or near the centre, of these glasses. Therefore the lady's eyesare set very near to the sides of the nose. You will perceive, Watson,that the glasses are concave and of unusual strength. A lady whosevision has been so extremely contracted all her life is sure to have thephysical 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 theoptician."
Holmes took the glasses in his hand.
"You will perceive," he said, "that the clips are lined with tinybands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these isdiscoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the other is new.Evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I should judge that theolder of them has not been there more than a few months. Theyexactly correspond, so I gather that the lady went back to the sameestablishment for the second."
"By George, it's marvellous!" cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy ofadmiration. "To think that I had all that evidence in my hand andnever knew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the Londonopticians."
"Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell us aboutthe case?"
"Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I donow--probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger seenon 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 ghostof a motive can anyone suggest."
"Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you want usto come out to-morrow?"
"If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There's a train from CharingCross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley OldPlace between eight and nine."
"Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features of greatinterest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well, it's nearlyone, and we had best get a few hours' sleep. I dare say you can manageall right on the sofa in front of the fire. I'll light my spirit-lampand give you a cup of coffee before we start."
The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morning whenwe started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise over thedreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen reaches of the river,which I shall ever associate with our pursuit of the Andaman Islanderin the earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey wealighted at a small station some miles from Chatham. While a horse wasbeing 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 YoxleyOld Place. A constable met us at the garden gate.
"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 eithercame or went yesterday."
"Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?"
"Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account for."
"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might stay there,or take a train without being observed. This is the garden path ofwhich I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was no mark on ityesterday."
"On which side were the marks on the grass?"
"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and theflower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but they were clear to me then."
"Yes, yes; someone has passed along," said Holmes, stooping over thegrass border. "Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must shenot, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and onthe 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 Holmes's 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, Ithink we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This garden door isusually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to do butto walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would haveprovided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pickthis knife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor,leaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself inthis study. How long was she there? We have no means of judging."
"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs.Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very longbefore--about a quarter of an hour, she says."
"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room and what doesshe do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anythingin the drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking it wouldsurely have been locked up. No; it was for something in that woodenbureau. Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold amatch, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?"
The mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on theright-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 you'll always find scratches round akeyhole."
"This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines where it iscut. An old scratch would be the same colour as the surface. Look at itthrough my lens. There's the varnish, too, like earth on each side of afurrow. 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 shredsof 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 Chubb's key."
"Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a littleprogress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and eitheropens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged young WilloughbySmith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the key she makes thisscratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearestobject, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to makehim 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 themaid there? Could anyone have got away through that door after the timethat you heard the cry, Susan?"
"No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down the stair I'd have seenanyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, for I would haveheard it."
"That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the way shecame. I understand that this other passage leads only to the Professor'sroom. 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 Professor'scorridor is also lined with cocoanut matting."
"Well, sir, what of that?"
"Don't you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well, I don't insistupon 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 whichled to the garden. At the end was a short flight of steps ending ina door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the Professor'sbedroom.
It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, which hadoverflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or werestacked all round at the base of the cases. The bed was in the centreof the room, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of thehouse. I have s
eldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was agaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing darkeyes, which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. Hishair and beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stainedwith yellow around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle ofwhite 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 stainedyellow with nicotine.
"A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking well-chosen English with acurious little mincing accent. "Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir? Ican recommend them, for I have them especially prepared by Ionides ofAlexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that Ihave 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 thatis left to me."
Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little darting glances allover the room.
"Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old man exclaimed."Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could have foreseen such aterrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure you that aftera few months' training he was an admirable assistant. What do you thinkof 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 isso dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blowis paralyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of thought. But you area man of action--you are a man of affairs. It is part of the everydayroutine 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 oldProfessor was talking. I observed that he was smoking with extraordinaryrapidity. It was evident that he shared our host's liking for the freshAlexandrian cigarettes.
"Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old man. "That is my MAGNUMOPUS--the pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis ofthe documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a workwhich will cut deep at the very foundations of revealed religion.With my enfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able tocomplete 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 thebox--his fourth--and lighting it from the stub of that which he hadfinished. "I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination,Professor Coram, since I gather that you were in bed at the time of thecrime and could know nothing about it. I would only ask this. Whatdo you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: 'TheProfessor--it was she'?"
The Professor shook his head.
"Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the incrediblestupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured someincoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into thismeaningless message."
"I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?"
"Possibly an accident; possibly--I only breathe it among ourselves--asuicide. Young men have their hidden troubles--some affair of the heart,perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable suppositionthan murder."
"But the eye-glasses?"
"Ah! I am only a student--a man of dreams. I cannot explain thepractical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, thatlove-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 treasuredwhen a man puts an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footstepsin 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 ashe fell. It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems thatWilloughby Smith has met his fate by his own hand."
Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued towalk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigaretteafter cigarette.
"Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last, "what is in that cupboardin the bureau?"
"Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poorwife, diplomas of Universities which have done me honour. Here is thekey. You can look for yourself."
Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant; then he handedit back.
"No; I hardly think that it would help me," said he. "I should preferto go quietly down to your garden and turn the whole matter over in myhead. There is something to be said for the theory of suicide whichyou have put forward. We must apologize for having intruded upon you,Professor Coram, and I promise that we won't disturb you until afterlunch. At two o'clock we will come again and report to you anythingwhich may have happened in the interval."
Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden pathfor some time in silence.
"Have you a clue?" I asked, at last.
"It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked," said he. "It ispossible 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, there's no harm done. Ofcourse, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I takea short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let usenjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her."
I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarlyingratiating way with women, and that he very readily established termsof confidence with them. In half the time which he had named he hadcaptured the housekeeper's goodwill, and was chatting with her as if hehad known her for years.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke somethingterrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. I've seen that room ofa morning--well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London fog. Poor youngMr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the Professor. Hishealth--well, I don't know that it's better nor worse for the smoking."
"Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite."
"Well, I don't know about that, sir."
"I suppose the Professor eats hardly anything?"
"Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him."
"I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't face his lunchafter all the cigarettes I saw him consume."
"Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable bigbreakfast this morning. I don't know when I've known him make abetter one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. I'msurprised myself, for since I came into that room yesterday and sawyoung Mr. Smith lying there on the floor I couldn't bear to look atfood. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the Professor hasn'tlet it take his appetite away."
We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gonedown to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who hadbeen seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previous morning. Asto my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I hadnever known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even thenews brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children and thatthey had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding with Holmes'sdescription, and wearing either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed torouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when Susan, whowaited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believedMr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he hadonly returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could notmyself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceived thatHolmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed in hisbrain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch. "Twoo'clock, gentlemen," said he. "We must go up and have it out with ourfriend the Professor."
The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dishbore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper hadcre
dited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white maneand his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in hismouth. 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 thelarge tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards mycompanion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, and betweenthem they tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or two we were allon our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places. Whenwe rose again I observed that Holmes's eyes were shining and his cheekstinged with colour. Only at a crisis have I seen those battle-signalsflying.
"Yes," said he, "I have solved it."
Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a sneerquivered 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 youthat 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, andI am sure that it is sound. What your motives are or what exact part youplay in this strange business I am not yet able to say. In a fewminutes I shall probably hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I willreconstruct what is past for your benefit, so that you may know theinformation which I still require.
"A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention ofpossessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. Shehad a key of her own. I have had an opportunity of examining yours, andI do not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon thevarnish would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore, andshe came, so far as I can read the evidence, without your knowledge torob you."
The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. "This is most interesting andinstructive," said he. "Have you no more to add? Surely, having tracedthis 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 yoursecretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe I aminclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that thelady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassindoes not come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done she rushed wildlyaway from the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her she had losther glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted shewas really helpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which sheimagined to be that by which she had come--both were lined with cocoanutmatting--and it was only when it was too late that she understood thatshe had taken the wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off behindher. What was she to do? She could not go back. She could not remainwhere she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted a stair, pushedopen a door, and found herself in your room."
The old man sat with his mouth open staring wildly at Holmes. Amazementand fear were stamped upon his expressive features. Now, with an effort,he shrugged his shoulders and burst into insincere laughter.
"All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But there is one little flawin your splendid theory. I was myself in my room, and I never left itduring the day."
"I am aware of that, Professor Coram."
"And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be awarethat a woman had entered my room?"
"I never said so. You WERE aware of it. You spoke with her. Yourecognised her. You aided her to escape."
Again the Professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risen to hisfeet and his eyes glowed like embers.
"You are mad!" he cried. "You are talking insanely. I helped her toescape? Where is she now?"
"She is there," said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in thecorner of the room.
I saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsion passed overhis grim face, and he fell back in his chair. At the same instant thebookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and a womanrushed out into the room. "You are right!" she cried, in a strangeforeign voice. "You are right! I am here."
She was brown with the dust and draped with the cobwebs which had comefrom the walls of her hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked withgrime, and at the best she could never have been handsome, for she hadthe exact physical characteristics which Holmes had divined, with, inaddition, a long and obstinate chin. What with her natural blindness,and what with the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed,blinking about her to see where and who we were. And yet, in spite ofall these disadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the woman'sbearing, a gallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, whichcompelled something of respect and admiration. Stanley Hopkins had laidhis hand upon her arm and claimed her as his prisoner, but she wavedhim aside gently, and yet with an overmastering dignity which compelledobedience. The old man lay back in his chair, with a twitching face, andstared at her with brooding eyes.
"Yes, sir, I am your prisoner," she said. "From where I stood I couldhear everything, and I know that you have learned the truth. I confessit all. It was I who killed the young man. But you are right, you whosay it was an accident. I did not even know that it was a knife whichI held in my hand, for in my despair I snatched anything from the tableand struck at him to make him let me go. It is the truth that I tell."
"Madam," said Holmes, "I am sure that it is the truth. I fear that youare far from well."
She had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under the darkdust-streaks upon her face. She seated herself on the side of the bed;then she resumed.
"I have only a little time here," she said, "but I would have you toknow the whole truth. I am this man's wife. He is not an Englishman. Heis a Russian. His name I will not tell."
For the first time the old man stirred. "God bless you, Anna!" he cried."God bless you!"
She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. "Why should youcling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?" said she. "Ithas done harm to many and good to none--not even to yourself. However,it is not for me to cause the frail thread to be snapped before God'stime. I have enough already upon my soul since I crossed the thresholdof this cursed house. But I must speak or I shall be too late.
"I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's wife. He was fifty and Ia foolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city of Russia, aUniversity--I will not name the place."
"God bless you, Anna!" murmured the old man again.
"We were reformers--revolutionists--Nihilists, you understand. He and Iand many more. Then there came a time of trouble, a police officer waskilled, many were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order to savehis own life and to earn a great reward my husband betrayed his own wifeand his companions. Yes, we were all arrested upon his confession. Someof us found our way to the gallows and some to Siberia. I was amongthese last, but my term was not for life. My husband came to Englandwith his ill-gotten gains, and has lived in quiet ever since, knowingwell that if the Brotherhood knew where he was not a week would passbefore justice would be done."
The old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself to acigarette. "I am in your hands, Anna," said he. "You were always good tome."
"I have not yet told you the height of his villainy," said she. "Amongour comrades of the Order there was one who was the friend of my heart.He was noble, unselfish, loving--all that my husband was not. He hatedviolence. We were all guilty--if that is guilt--but he was not. He wrotefor ever dissuading us from such a course. These letters would havesaved him. So would my diary, in which from day to day I had enteredboth my feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. Myhusband found and kept both diary and letters. He hid them, and he triedhard to swear away the young man's life. In this he failed, but Alexiswas sent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works ina salt mine. Think of that, you villain, you villain; now, now, at thisvery moment, Alexis, a man whose name you ar
e not worthy to speak, worksand lives like a slave, and yet I have your life in my hands and I letyou go."
"You were always a noble woman, Anna," said the old man, puffing at hiscigarette.
She had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry of pain.
"I must finish," she said. "When my term was over I set myself to getthe diary and letters which, if sent to the Russian Government, wouldprocure my friend's release. I knew that my husband had come to England.After months of searching I discovered where he was. I knew that hestill had the diary, for when I was in Siberia I had a letter from himonce reproaching me and quoting some passages from its pages. Yet I wassure that with his revengeful nature he would never give it to me of hisown free will. I must get it for myself. With this object I engaged anagent from a private detective firm, who entered my husband's house assecretary--it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who left youso hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he gotan impression of the key. He would not go farther. He furnished me witha plan of the house, and he told me that in the forenoon the study wasalways empty, as the secretary was employed up here. So at last I tookmy courage in both hands and I came down to get the papers for myself. Isucceeded, but at what a cost!
"I had just taken the papers and was locking the cupboard when the youngman seized me. I had seen him already that morning. He had met me inthe road and I had asked him to tell me where Professor Coram lived, notknowing that he was in his employ."
"Exactly! exactly!" said Holmes. "The secretary came back and told hisemployer of the woman he had met. Then in his last breath he tried tosend a message that it was she--the she whom he had just discussed withhim."
"You must let me speak," said the woman, in an imperative voice, andher face contracted as if in pain. "When he had fallen I rushed from theroom, chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husband's room. Hespoke of giving me up. I showed him that if he did so his life was in myhands. If he gave me to the law I could give him to the Brotherhood. Itwas not that I wished to live for my own sake, but it was that I desiredto accomplish my purpose. He knew that I would do what I said--thathis own fate was involved in mine. For that reason and for no other heshielded me. He thrust me into that dark hiding-place, a relic of olddays, known only to himself. He took his meals in his own room, and sowas able to give me part of his food. It was agreed that when the policeleft the house I should slip away by night and come back no more. But insome way you have read our plans." She tore from the bosom of her dressa small packet. "These are my last words," said she; "here is the packetwhich will save Alexis. I confide it to your honour and to your love ofjustice. Take it! You will deliver it at the Russian Embassy. Now I havedone my duty, and----"
"Stop her!" cried Holmes. He had bounded across the room and hadwrenched a small phial from her hand.
"Too late!" she said, sinking back on the bed. "Too late! I took thepoison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! Icharge you, sir, to remember the packet."
"A simple case, and yet in some ways an instructive one," Holmesremarked, as we travelled back to town. "It hinged from the outset uponthe pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dying man havingseized these I am not sure that we could ever have reached our solution.It was clear to me from the strength of the glasses that the wearer musthave been very blind and helpless when deprived of them. When you askedme to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of grass withoutonce making a false step I remarked, as you may remember, that it wasa noteworthy performance. In my mind I set it down as an impossibleperformance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair ofglasses. I was forced, therefore, to seriously consider the hypothesisthat she had remained within the house. On perceiving the similarity ofthe two corridors it became clear that she might very easily have madesuch a mistake, and in that case it was evident that she must haveentered the Professor's room. I was keenly on the alert, therefore,for whatever would bear out this supposition, and I examined the roomnarrowly for anything in the shape of a hiding-place. The carpet seemedcontinuous and firmly nailed, so I dismissed the idea of a trap-door.There might well be a recess behind the books. As you are aware, suchdevices are common in old libraries. I observed that books were piledon the floor at all other points, but that one bookcase was left clear.This, then, might be the door. I could see no marks to guide me, but thecarpet was of a dun colour, which lends itself very well to examination.I therefore smoked a great number of those excellent cigarettes, and Idropped the ash all over the space in front of the suspected bookcase.It was a simple trick, but exceedingly effective. I then went downstairsand I ascertained, in your presence, Watson, without your perceivingthe drift of my remarks, that Professor Coram's consumption of food hadincreased--as one would expect when he is supplying a second person. Wethen ascended to the room again, when, by upsetting the cigarette-box,I obtained a very excellent view of the floor, and was able to see quiteclearly, from the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the prisoner had,in our absence, come out from her retreat. Well, Hopkins, here we are atCharing Cross, and I congratulate you on having brought your case toa successful conclusion. You are going to head-quarters, no doubt. Ithink, Watson, you and I will drive together to the Russian Embassy."
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THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 28 AUGUST, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
The Return of Sherlock Holmes Page 10
