The Adventure of the Red Circle

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at the buildingwhich we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top window, I couldsee the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing tensely, rigidly, outinto the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal ofthat interrupted message. At the doorway of the Howe Street flats aman, muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against therailing. He started as the hall-light fell upon our faces.

  "Holmes!" he cried.

  "Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with the ScotlandYard detective. "Journeys end with lovers' meetings. What brings youhere?"

  "The same reasons that bring you, I expect," said Gregson. "How yougot on to it I can't imagine."

  "Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've beentaking the signals."

  "Signals?"

  "Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came over tosee the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object incontinuing this business."

  "Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice, Mr.Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feel stronger forhaving you on my side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so wehave him safe."

  "Who is he?"

  "Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You must give usbest this time." He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on whicha cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheelerwhich stood on the far side of the street. "May I introduce you to Mr.Sherlock Holmes?" he said to the cabman. "This is Mr. Leverton, ofPinkerton's American Agency."

  "The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" said Holmes. "Sir, I ampleased to meet you."

  The American, a quiet, businesslike young man, with a clean-shaven,hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation. "I am on thetrail of my life now, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If I can get Gorgiano--"

  "What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?"

  "Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we've learned all about himin America. We KNOW he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet wehave nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from NewYork, and I've been close to him for a week in London, waiting someexcuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Gregson and I ran him toground in that big tenement house, and there's only one door, so hecan't slip us. There's three folk come out since he went in, but I'llswear he wasn't one of them."

  "Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, as usual, heknows a good deal that we don't."

  In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it had appearedto us. The American struck his hands together with vexation.

  "He's on to us!" he cried.

  "Why do you think so?"

  "Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sending outmessages to an accomplice--there are several of his gang in London.Then suddenly, just as by your own account he was telling them thatthere was danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except thatfrom the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us in thestreet, or in some way come to understand how close the danger was, andthat he must act right away if he was to avoid it? What do yousuggest, Mr. Holmes?"

  "That we go up at once and see for ourselves."

  "But we have no warrant for his arrest."

  "He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," saidGregson. "That is good enough for the moment. When we have him by theheels we can see if New York can't help us to keep him. I'll take theresponsibility of arresting him now."

  Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, butnever in that of courage. Gregson climbed the stair to arrest thisdesperate murderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslikebearing with which he would have ascended the official staircase ofScotland Yard. The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, butGregson had firmly elbowed him back. London dangers were the privilegeof the London force.

  The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standingajar. Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolute silence anddarkness. I struck a match and lit the detective's lantern. As I didso, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp ofsurprise. On the deal boards of the carpetless floor there wasoutlined a fresh track of blood. The red steps pointed towards us andled away from an inner room, the door of which was closed. Gregsonflung it open and held his light full blaze in front of him, while weall peered eagerly over his shoulders.

  In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure ofan enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible inits contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo ofblood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His kneeswere drawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre ofhis broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of aknife driven blade-deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man musthave gone down like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Besidehis right hand a most formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger layupon the floor, and near it a black kid glove.

  "By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the American detective."Someone has got ahead of us this time."

  "Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson. "Why,whatever are you doing?"

  Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing itbackward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered into thedarkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor.

  "I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and stoodin deep thought while the two professionals were examining the body."You say that three people came out from the flat while you werewaiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe them closely?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?"

  "Yes; he was the last to pass me."

  "That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and wehave a very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enoughfor you."

  "Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London."

  "Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to youraid."

  We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was atall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowlyshe advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension,her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the darkfigure on the floor.

  "You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have killedhim!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she spranginto the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced,her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and athousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It wasterrible and amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at sucha sight. Suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioningstare.

  "But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed GiuseppeGorgiano. Is it not so?"

  "We are police, madam."

  She looked round into the shadows of the room.

  "But where, then, is Gennaro?" she asked. "He is my husband, GennaroLucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York. Where isGennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and I ran with allmy speed."

  "It was I who called," said Holmes.

  "You! How could you call?"

  "Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here wasdesirable. I knew that I had only to flash 'Vieni' and you would surelycome."

  The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion.

  "I do not understand how you know these things," she said. "GiuseppeGorgiano--how did he--" She paused, and then suddenly her face lit upwith pride and delight. "Now I see it! My Gennaro! My splendid,beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm, he did it,with his own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh, Gennaro, howwonderful you are! What woman could ever be worthy of such a man?
"

  "Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand upon thelady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a Notting Hillhooligan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; butyou've said enough to make it very clear that we shall want you at theYard."

  "One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I rather fancy that this lady maybe as anxious to give us information as we can be to get it. Youunderstand, madam, that your husband will be arrested and tried for thedeath of the man who lies before us? What you say may be used