The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  “Snatching up her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger.”

  Geo. Hutchinson, A Study in Scarlet (London: Ward, Lock Bowden, and Co., 1891)

  For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains, leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the fierce desire for vengeance which possessed him. Tales were told in the City of the weird figure which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and which haunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson’s window and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On another occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing himself upon his face. The two young Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of these attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditions into the mountains in the hope of capturing or killing their enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. After a time they were able to relax these measures, for nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness.

  “A great boulder crashed down on him.”

  Geo. Hutchinson, A Study in Scarlet (London: Ward, Lock Bowden, and Co., 1891)

  Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. The hunter’s mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge had taken such complete possession of it that there was no room for any other emotion. He was, however, above all things, practical. He soon realized that even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant strain which he was putting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of his revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtake him if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy’s game, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there to recruit his health and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his object without privation.

  His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the mines for nearly five.237 At the end of that time, however, his memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier’s grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a schism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of the younger members of the Church having rebelled against the authority of the Elders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had left Utah and become Gentiles.238 Among these had been Drebber and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his property into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his companion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however, as to their whereabouts.

  Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. With the small competence239 he possessed, eked out by such employment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town through the United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into year, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object to which he had devoted his life. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland in Ohio possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He returned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street, and had read murder in his eyes. He hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by Stangerson, who had become his private secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival. That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and not being able to find sureties,240 was detained for some weeks. When at last he was liberated, it was only to find that Drebber’s house was deserted, and that he and his secretary had departed for Europe.

  Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, and for some time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for his approaching journey. At last, having collected enough to keep life in him, he departed for Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city, working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg, they had departed for Paris; and when he followed them there, he learned that they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to London, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the old hunter’s own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson’s Journal, to which we are already under such obligations.241

  234 Commenting on Dr. Watson’s recurring difficulties with the moon, Jay Finley Christ writes, in “An Adventure in the Lower Criticism, Part II: Dr. Watson and the Moon,” “When Hope returned to his camp, it was ‘dark,’ because ‘the moon had not yet risen.’ The moon had been full on August 1st; on the 4th the sun set at 7:41 and the moon rose at 8:21 P.M. Twilight ended officially at 9:00 P.M., according to the American Almanac. Perhaps it was dark in the canyons.”

  235 Pronounced On-dew’ment, this was the name given to a former two-story building in Salt Lake City used by the Mormon Church for rituals of ordination, or endowment, into certain priestly orders. According to Tracy’s Encyclopaedia Sherlockiana, “The sealing of husbands and wives in eternal marriage was a part of the ceremony, and all polygamous marriages were required to be performed here.” However, there is no evidence that the flying of flags was a Mormon practice.

  236 Again, there is no evidence of such a Mormon custom.

  237 That is, until about the middle to end of 1865. Jack Tracy, in Saints, suggests that the “unforeseen circumstances” were the events of the American Civil War.

  238 No single group of “malcontents” fits this description, but there were at least two significant defections within this time frame, both based upon a mistrust of Brigham Young’s authority. In 1861, members of the Morrisite movement—so named after Joseph Morris (1817–1862), who had received numerous revelations and claimed to be the seventh angel of the apocalypse—split from the church and moved to South Weber on the grounds that Morris was a true prophet, but Brigham Young was not. The following year, having detained some disgruntled members who were trying to leave the sect, Morris was instructed by Utah authorities to set his prisoners free. When Morris, believing himself and his followers to be above the law, refused, a posse of two hundred men arrived to bring him to Salt Lake City. In the siege that followed, Morris and a few others were killed. The rest of the Morrisites surrendered, and after a trial and a collective pardon, they scattered to surrounding states.

  Another schism was instigated by the group that came to be known as The Reorganized Church of Latter-day Saints (now the Community of Christ). Its adherents were opposed to polygamy, which they claimed had been endorsed not by Joseph Smith but by Young. Choosing to remain in Nauvoo rather than following Young to Utah, they elected Joseph Smith’s son, Joseph Smith III, as their president in 1860, and until 1996 each president thereafter was also a descendant of Smith’s. In 1863–1864, The Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints sent a mission to Utah and was able to convert some Mormons to the cause.

  239 Means for the necessities and conveniences of life; an allowance.

  240 That is, persons who would post a bail bond or take responsibility for Hope.

  241 Who wrote these words? It cannot have been Jefferson Hope, because when Lestrade later takes
his statement, Hope explains his motives by saying merely: “It don’t much matter to you why I hated these men …” And how could he have been acquainted with the earlier part of the story, from the desert rescue onward?

  D. Martin Dakin concludes that it was Arthur Conan Doyle who added these sentences: “[U]nless Watson is deliberately adopting a temporary Caesarian detachment,” Dakin explains, “this phrase must come from a third hand, which can scarcely be other than that of him who prepared Watson’s narratives for publication, referred to by Sherlockians as the Literary Agent.” This view is supported by Jack Tracy in Saints, and in the Encyclopaedia Sherlockiana, he describes Conan Doyle’s authorship of the entire “Country of the Saints” section as “generally agreed.” Charles A. Meyer, in “A Computer Analysis of Authorship in A Study in Scarlet,” reaches the same conclusion.

  But “generally agreed” appears to be an overstatement. Dakin himself asserts that Watson wrote the material based on Hope’s narrative, which must have included a recounting of Ferrier’s own history (Hope could not have retained a written history prepared by Ferrier, unless he coincidentally took it with him on his last hunting expedition before Ferrier’s death). Dakin finds it strange, however, that Hope’s verbal narrative would have preserved such exact detail. “Are we driven to the shocking suspicion that Watson, given an outline story, could not resist embroidering it with details form his own imagination?” He notes also that the style appears Watsonesque, rather than resembling the abrupt style of Hope recorded in Lestrade’s notebook.

  Peter Horrocks makes the case, in “Saints and Sinners: An Appraisal of ‘The Country of the Saints,’ ” that Holmes and Conan Doyle wrote the interlude together. John L. Benton, in “Who Was Dr. Watson’s ‘Good Authority?,’” suggests that Holmes supplied the background information to Watson, while W. E. Edwards asserts, “The only possible answer would seem to be from the only confidant Hope is known to have had: his young actor friend whose performance as Mrs. Sawyer was so successful.”

  As to the “Journal” itself, Bernard Davies writes,

  [A]11 the evidence is against there being anything resembling a meticulous, day-by-day record in a slim leather-covered volume. Odd memos on the backs of old envelopes or betting-slips seem much more likely. The passage sounds like a piece of editorial flim-flam, intended, at best, as a sop to the feelings of the tyro author [Dr. Watson] who was going to considerable pains to impress [his readers with his sophistication] …

  In short, Davies concludes, “The ‘Journal’ … is just as much a figment as the Reminiscences.” (See note 4, above.)

  CHAPTER

  VI

  A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.

  OUR PRISONER’S FURIOUS resistance did not apparently indicate any ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. “I guess you’re going to take me to the police-station,” he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. “My cab’s at the door. If you’ll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. I’m not so light to lift as I used to be.”

  Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at his word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his ankles. He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they were free once more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was as formidable as his personal strength.

  “If there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you are the man for it,” he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. “The way you kept on my trail was a caution.”

  “You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the two detectives.

  “I can drive you,” said Lestrade.

  “Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor. You have taken an interest in the case, and may as well stick to us.”

  I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his, and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a very short time to our destination. We were ushered into a small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our prisoner’s name and the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged. The official was a white-faced unemotional man, who went through his duties in a dull, mechanical way. “The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the course of the week,” he said; “in the meantime, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn you that your words will be taken down, and may be used against you.”

  “I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said slowly. “I want to tell you gentlemen all about it.”

  “Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” asked the Inspector.

  “I may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t look startled. It isn’t suicide I am thinking of. Are you a doctor?” He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.

  “Yes; I am,” I answered.

  “Then put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, motioning with his manacled wrists towards his chest.

  I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. In the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise242 which proceeded from the same source.

  “Why,” I cried, “you have an aortic aneurism!”243

  “That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly. “I went to a doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding244 among the Salt Lake Mountains. I’ve done my work now, and I don’t care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account of the business behind me. I don’t want to be remembered as a common cut-throat.”

  “ ‘I’ve got a good deal to say,’ our prisoner said slowly.”

  Richard Gutschmidt, Späte Rache (Stuttgart: Robert Lutz Verlag, 1902)

  The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story.

  “Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?” the former asked.

  “Most certainly there is,” I answered.

  “In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to take his statement,” said the Inspector. “You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again warn you will be taken down.”

  “I’ll sit down, with your leave,” the prisoner said, suiting the action to the word. “This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I’m on the brink of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me.”

  With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and began the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical manner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I have had access to Lestrade’s note-book, in which the prisoner’s words were taken down exactly as they were uttered.

  “It don’t much matter to you why I hated these men,” he said; “it’s enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings—a father and daughter—and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I knew of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You’d have done the same, if you have
any manhood in you, if you had been in my place.

  “That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago.245 She was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart over it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts should be of the crime for which he was punished. I have carried it about with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two continents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out, but they could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, I die knowing that my work in this world is done, and well done. They have perished, and by my hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.

  “They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me to follow them. When I got to London my pocket was about empty, and I found that I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driving and riding are as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner’s office, and soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to the owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There was seldom much over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The hardest job was to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, I got on pretty well.

  “It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen were living; but I inquired and inquired until at last I dropped across them. They were at a boarding-house at Camberwell,246 over on the other side of the river. When once I found them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. I had grown my beard, and there was no chance of their recognizing me. I would dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity. I was determined that they should not escape me again.