The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  169 The irregulars seem to have been in a time warp, for though at least seven years must have passed since A Study in Scarlet, Wiggins, the leader then as now, is still a “disreputable little scarecrow.” See Mel Hughes’s “Wiggin’ Out.”

  170 A “bob” is a shilling and a “tanner” a sixpence. William S. Baring-Gould remarks that “[th]e boys had come from some distance if their tickets by bus or Underground cost threepence each.” “Three bob and a tanner” is 42d. (pence); for a “dozen” boys, that is 31/2d. each. Baedeker gives the bus fares as 1d. to 6d., depending on distance, while the “average” fare on the Underground is 2d.

  171 Holmes issued the same instructions in A Study in Scarlet, but evidently to no effect.

  172 Why Watson, who served in India, would identify “Hindoos and Mohammedans” with “savages” using stone-headed maces and blow-pipes is a mystery.

  173 As will be seen, the gazetteer is so wholly inaccurate that one must question how Holmes obtained it. Julia Carlson Rosenblatt, in “Who Was Tonga? And Why Were They Saying Such Terrible Things about Him?,” suggests that “the little affair of Jonathan Small was part of a more elaborate conspiracy, one sufficiently thorough as to have assured the infiltration into Holmes’s library of a deliberately misleading work… . Doubtless the man who called himself Jonathan Small, like Tonga, had never seen the islands or the Penal Settlement there.” Rosenblatt’s suspicions come to rest, not surprisingly, on the involvement of Moriarty.

  174 See note 45, above.

  175 A derogatory and ethnographically meaningless term for many indigenous peoples of North America, particularly Oregon, Idaho, several southwestern states, and parts of California. While the word purports to describe a livelihood of digging roots from the ground for sustenance, it is not based on actual practice.

  176 Tierra del Fuego is a large archipelago at the southernmost tip of South America. The Encyclopædia Britannica (9th Ed.) describes the true aborigines of the archipelago (there are three tribes) unflatteringly, and with an ethnocentrism common to the period. Charles Darwin famously visited Tierra del Fuego in 1831–1836 and, then only in his early twenties, contributed to the erroneous notion of the indigenous tribes as cannibalistic, reversing his assessment later in his career.

  177 The Gazetteer’s description is surely wrong. Encyclopædia Britannica (11th Ed.) notes that the “average height of [native Andaman] males is 4 ft. 101/2 in.; of females, 4 ft. 6 in.,” and Andrew Lang, writing in Quarterly Review (July 1904; quoted in Roger Lancelyn Green’s “Dr. Watson’s First Critic”), concluded that Tonga was a “purely fictitious little monster,” since the Andamanese “have neither the malignant qualities, nor the heads like mops, nor the customs, with which they are credited by Sherlock.” To this T. S. Blakeney adds his personal knowledge that Andaman Islanders “(a) are NOT cannibals—I was told in 1936, whilst on a visit to the Andaman Islands, by the Chief Commissioner, that when the aborigines had been questioned about this practice, they expressed horror at the idea; (b) are not naturally hideous … ; [and] (c) their average height is more than 4 ft. 9 in. to 5 ft. [rather] than under 4 ft.” “A man like Sherlock Holmes,” concludes Lang, “who wrote a monograph on over a hundred varieties of tobacco-ash, ought not to have been gulled by a gazetteer.”

  Julia Carlson Rosenblatt proposes that Tonga was a member of a particular tribe of negrito people (the term “negrito” encompasses some eighteen to nineteen tribes, including the Andamanese) known by anthropologists as the Sakai, the indigenous minority of the Malaysian peninsula. “Sakai,” which means “savage,” is generally considered to be a disparaging term; the Sakai are also called Sng’oi, orang asli (original people), and Mani (“human being”), and are referred to by a host of still other names, variously preferred in greater or lesser degree by ethnologists and the people themselves. The Sakai traditionally used the blow gun and poisoned darts; they are wavy haired, and have been described as dolichocephalic—that is, the skull is much longer than it is wide. In addition, they are somewhat small of stature. Indeed, Tonga—a name for the language of the Mani—is one of the tribal names by which Malay negritos are designated.

  CHAPTER

  IX

  A BREAK IN THE CHAIN

  It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked across at me as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled.

  “You have slept soundly,” he said. “I feared that our talk would wake you.”

  “I heard nothing,” I answered. “Have you had fresh news, then?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. I expected something definite by this time. Wiggins has just been up to report. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a provoking check, for every hour is of importance.”

  “Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for another night’s outing.”

  “No; we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves, the message might come in our absence and delay be caused. You can do what you will, but I must remain on guard.”

  “Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. Cecil Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday.”

  “On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?” asked Holmes with the twinkle of a smile in his eyes.

  “Well, of course, on Miss Morstan, too. They were anxious to hear what happened.”

  “I would not tell them too much,” said Holmes. “Women are never to be entirely trusted—not the best of them.”178

  I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment.

  “I shall be back in an hour or two,” I remarked.

  “All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the water you may as well return Toby, for I don’t think it is at all likely that we shall have any use for him now.”

  I took our mongrel accordingly and left him, together with a half-sovereign, at the old naturalist’s in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night’s adventures but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr. Sholto’s death, I said nothing of the exact manner and method of it. With all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and amaze them.

  “It is a romance!” cried Mrs. Forrester. “An injured lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian. They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl.”

  “And two knight-errants to the rescue,” added Miss Morstan, with a bright glance at me.

  “Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I don’t think that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it must be to be so rich and to have the world at your feet!”

  It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took small interest.

  “It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,” she said. “Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most kindly and honourably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge.”

  It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I reached home. My companion’s book and pipe lay by his chair, but he had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was none.

  “I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out?” I said to Mrs. Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.

  “No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir,” sinking her voice into an impressive whisper, “I am afraid for his health.”

  “Why so, Mrs. Hudson?”

  “Well, he’s that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and d
own, until I was weary of the sound of his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering, and every time the bell rang out he came on the stair-head, with ‘What is that, Mrs. Hudson?’ And now he has slammed off to his room, but I can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he’s not going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cooling medicine,179 but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don’t know how ever I got out of the room.”

  “I don’t think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson,” I answered. “I have seen him like this before. He has some small matter upon his mind which makes him restless.”

  I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this involuntary inaction.

  At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of feverish colour upon either cheek.

  “You are knocking yourself up, old man,” I remarked. “I heard you marching about in the night.”

  “No, I could not sleep,” he answered, “this infernal problem is consuming me. It is too much to be baulked by so petty an obstacle, when all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch, everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies180 at work and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has been searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled the craft. But there are objections to that.”

  “Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent.”

  “No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there is a launch of that description.”

  “Could it have gone up the river?”

  “I have considered that possibility, too, and there is a search-party who will work up as far as Richmond.181 If no news comes to-day I shall start off myself tomorrow and go for the men rather than the boat. But surely, surely, we shall hear something.”

  We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or from the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found, however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report our ill-success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions and busied himself all the evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved much heating of retorts and distilling of vapours, ending at last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours of the morning I could hear the clinking of his test-tubes, which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous experiment.

  In the early dawn I woke with a start and was surprised to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket and a coarse red scarf round his neck.

  “I am off down the river, Watson,” said he. “I have been turning it over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth trying, at all events.”

  “Surely I can come with you, then?” said I.

  “No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I get back.”

  “ ‘I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress.’ ”

  Artist unknown, The Sign of the Four (New York and Boston: H. M. Caldwell Co., n.d.)

  I had heard nothing of him by breakfast time. On opening the Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the business.

  With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any moment.

  “That is satisfactory so far as it goes,” thought I. “Friend Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be, though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder.”

  I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:

  LOST—Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son Jim, left Smith’s Wharf at or about three o’clock last Tuesday morning in the steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to anyone who can give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith’s Wharf, or at 221B, Baker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch Aurora.

  This was clearly Holmes’s doing. The Baker Street address was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.182

  “ ‘I am off down the river, Watson.’ ”

  Richard Gutschmidt, Das Zeichen der Vier (Stuttgart: Robert Lutz Verlag, 1902)

  It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander oft to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion’s reasoning? Might he not be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong, and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his logic—his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that even if Holmes’s explanation were incorrect the true theory must be equally outré and startling.

  At three o’clock on the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.

  “Good-day, sir; good-day,” said he. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I understand?”

  “Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars.”

  “Thank you; I don’t mind if I do,” said he, mopping his face with a red bandanna handkerchief.

  “His expression was downcast and his bearing meek.”

  W. H. Hyde, Harper’s Weekly, 1899 (reused from “The Resident Patient” and recaptioned, in Sherlock Holmes Series, Vol. I [New York & London: Harper & Bros., 1904])

  “And a whisky and soda?”


  “Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this Norwood case?”

  “I remember that you expressed one.”

  “Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. From the time that he left his brother’s room he was never out of sight of someone or other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through trapdoors. It’s a very dark case, and my professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little assistance.”

  “We all need help sometimes,” said I.

  “Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir,” said he, in a husky and confidential voice. “He’s a man who is not to be beat. I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in his methods and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories; but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I don’t care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business. Here is his message.”

  He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was dated from Poplar183 at twelve o’clock.

  Go to Baker Street at once. If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish.

  “This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again,” said I.

  “Ah, then he has been at fault too,” exclaimed Jones with evident satisfaction. “Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is someone at the door. Perhaps this is he.”