a study in scarlet6 a study in scarlet was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of...

A Study in Scarlet

Sir Arthur Conan DoyleIllustrations by Richard Gutschmidt

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Contents

PART I 3CHAPTER I. MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES. 3

CHAPTER II. THE SCIENCE OFDEDUCTION. 19

CHAPTER III. THE LAURISTONGARDEN MYSTERY 37

CHAPTER IV. WHAT JOHN RANCE HADTO TELL. 57

CHAPTER V. OUR ADVERTISEMENTBRINGS A VISITOR. 71

CHAPTER VI. TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWSWHAT HE CAN DO. 83

CHAPTER VII. LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. 101

PART II 121CHAPTER I. ON THE GREAT ALKALI

PLAIN. 121

CHAPTER II. THE FLOWER OF UTAH. 139

i

ii

CHAPTER III. JOHN FERRIER TALKSWITH THE PROPHET. 153

CHAPTER IV. A FLIGHT FOR LIFE. 163

CHAPTER V. THE AVENGING ANGELS. 181

CHAPTER VI. A CONTINUATION OF THEREMINISCENCES OF JOHNWATSON, M.D. 197

CHAPTER VII. THE CONCLUSION. 217

PART I.(Being a reprint from the reminiscences

of JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., late of the

Army Medical Department.)

1

CHAPTER I. MR.SHERLOCKHOLMES.

In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctorof Medicine of the University of London, andproceeded to Netley to go through the courseprescribed for surgeons in the army. Havingcompleted my studies there, I was duly at-tached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliersas Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was sta-tioned in India at the time, and before I couldjoin it, the second Afghan war had brokenout. On landing at Bombay, I learned thatmy corps had advanced through the passes,and was already deep in the enemy’s coun-try. I followed, however, with many other offi-cers who were in the same situation as myself,and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety,where I found my regiment, and at once en-tered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and pro-motion to many, but for me it had nothing but

3

4 A STUDY IN SCARLET

misfortune and disaster. I was removed frommy brigade and attached to the Berkshires,with whom I served at the fatal battle of Mai-wand. There I was struck on the shoulder bya Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone andgrazed the subclavian artery. I should havefallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazishad it not been for the devotion and courageshown by Murray, my orderly, who threw meacross a pack-horse, and succeeded in bring-ing me safely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the pro-longed hardships which I had undergone, Iwas removed, with a great train of woundedsufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar.Here I rallied, and had already improved sofar as to be able to walk about the wards, andeven to bask a little upon the verandah, whenI was struck down by enteric fever, that curseof our Indian possessions. For months my lifewas despaired of, and when at last I cameto myself and became convalescent, I was soweak and emaciated that a medical board de-termined that not a day should be lost in send-ing me back to England. I was dispatched,accordingly, in the troopship “Orontes,” andlanded a month later on Portsmouth jetty,with my health irretrievably ruined, but withpermission from a paternal government tospend the next nine months in attempting toimprove it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and

CHAPTER I 5

I SHOULD HAVE FALLEN INTO THE HANDSOF THE MURDEROUS GHAZIS HAD IT NOTBEEN FOR THE DEVOTION AND COURAGE

SHOWN BY MURRAY, MY ORDERLY.


was therefore as free as air—or as free asan income of eleven shillings and sixpence aday will permit a man to be. Under suchcircumstances, I naturally gravitated to Lon-don, that great cesspool into which all theloungers and idlers of the Empire are irre-sistibly drained. There I stayed for sometime at a private hotel in the Strand, lead-ing a comfortless, meaningless existence, andspending such money as I had, considerablymore freely than I ought. So alarming did thestate of my finances become, that I soon re-alized that I must either leave the metropo-lis and rusticate somewhere in the country, orthat I must make a complete alteration in mystyle of living. Choosing the latter alternative,I began by making up my mind to leave thehotel, and to take up my quarters in some lesspretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to thisconclusion, I was standing at the CriterionBar, when some one tapped me on the shoul-der, and turning round I recognized youngStamford, who had been a dresser under meat Barts. The sight of a friendly face in thegreat wilderness of London is a pleasant thingindeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamfordhad never been a particular crony of mine, butnow I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, inhis turn, appeared to be delighted to see me.In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him tolunch with me at the Holborn, and we started

CHAPTER I 7

off together in a hansom.“Whatever have you been doing with your-

self, Watson?” he asked in undisguised won-der, as we rattled through the crowded Lon-don streets. “You are as thin as a lath and asbrown as a nut.”

I gave him a short sketch of my adven-tures, and had hardly concluded it by the timethat we reached our destination.

“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, af-ter he had listened to my misfortunes. “Whatare you up to now?”

“Looking for lodgings.” I answered. “Try-ing to solve the problem as to whether it ispossible to get comfortable rooms at a reason-able price.”

“That’s a strange thing,” remarked mycompanion; “you are the second man to-daythat has used that expression to me.”

“And who was the first?” I asked.“A fellow who is working at the chemi-

cal laboratory up at the hospital. He wasbemoaning himself this morning because hecould not get someone to go halves with himin some nice rooms which he had found, andwhich were too much for his purse.”

“By Jove!” I cried, “if he really wants some-one to share the rooms and the expense, I amthe very man for him. I should prefer havinga partner to being alone.”

Young Stamford looked rather strangely atme over his wine-glass. “You don’t know Sher-


lock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you wouldnot care for him as a constant companion.”

“Why, what is there against him?”“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything

against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. Asfar as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”

“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.“No—I have no idea what he intends to

go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy,and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as Iknow, he has never taken out any systematicmedical classes. His studies are very desul-tory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot ofout-of-the way knowledge which would aston-ish his professors.”

“Did you never ask him what he was goingin for?” I asked.

“No; he is not a man that it is easy to drawout, though he can be communicative enoughwhen the fancy seizes him.”

“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I amto lodge with anyone, I should prefer a manof studious and quiet habits. I am not strongenough yet to stand much noise or excitement.I had enough of both in Afghanistan to lastme for the remainder of my natural existence.How could I meet this friend of yours?”

“He is sure to be at the laboratory,” re-turned my companion. “He either avoids theplace for weeks, or else he works there frommorning to night. If you like, we shall drive

CHAPTER I 9

round together after luncheon.”“Certainly,” I answered, and the conversa-

tion drifted away into other channels.As we made our way to the hospital after

leaving the Holborn, Stamford gave me a fewmore particulars about the gentleman whomI proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.

“You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get onwith him,” he said; “I know nothing more ofhim than I have learned from meeting himoccasionally in the laboratory. You proposedthis arrangement, so you must not hold meresponsible.”

“If we don’t get on it will be easy to partcompany,” I answered. “It seems to me, Stam-ford,” I added, looking hard at my companion,“that you have some reason for washing yourhands of the matter. Is this fellow’s temperso formidable, or what is it? Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it.”

“It is not easy to express the inexpressible,”he answered with a laugh. “Holmes is a littletoo scientific for my tastes—it approaches tocold-bloodedness. I could imagine his givinga friend a little pinch of the latest vegetablealkaloid, not out of malevolence, you under-stand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry inorder to have an accurate idea of the effects.To do him justice, I think that he would takeit himself with the same readiness. He ap-pears to have a passion for definite and exactknowledge.”


“Very right too.”“Yes, but it may be pushed to excess.

When it comes to beating the subjects in thedissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainlytaking rather a bizarre shape.”

“Beating the subjects!”“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be pro-

duced after death. I saw him at it with myown eyes.”

“And yet you say he is not a medical stu-dent?”

“No. Heaven knows what the objects ofhis studies are. But here we are, and youmust form your own impressions about him.”As he spoke, we turned down a narrow laneand passed through a small side-door, whichopened into a wing of the great hospital. Itwas familiar ground to me, and I needed noguiding as we ascended the bleak stone stair-case and made our way down the long corridorwith its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a lowarched passage branched away from it and ledto the chemical laboratory.

This was a lofty chamber, lined and lit-tered with countless bottles. Broad, low ta-bles were scattered about, which bristled withretorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps,with their blue flickering flames. There wasonly one student in the room, who was bend-ing over a distant table absorbed in his work.At the sound of our steps he glanced round

CHAPTER I 11

and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure.“I’ve found it! I’ve found it,” he shouted to mycompanion, running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. “I have found a re-agentwhich is precipitated by hæmoglobin, and bynothing else.” Had he discovered a gold mine,greater delight could not have shone upon hisfeatures.

“Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” saidStamford, introducing us.

“How are you?” he said cordially, grippingmy hand with a strength for which I shouldhardly have given him credit. “You have beenin Afghanistan, I perceive.”

“How on earth did you know that?” I askedin astonishment.

“Never mind,” said he, chuckling to him-self. “The question now is about hæmoglobin.No doubt you see the significance of this dis-covery of mine?”

“It is interesting, chemically, no doubt,” Ianswered, “but practically—”

“Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don’t you see thatit gives us an infallible test for blood stains.Come over here now!” He seized me by thecoat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew meover to the table at which he had been work-ing. “Let us have some fresh blood,” he said,digging a long bodkin into his finger, anddrawing off the resulting drop of blood in achemical pipette. “Now, I add this small quan-


“I’VE FOUND IT! I’VE FOUND IT,” HESHOUTED TO MY COMPANION.

CHAPTER I 13

tity of blood to a litre of water. You perceivethat the resulting mixture has the appearanceof pure water. The proportion of blood can-not be more than one in a million. I have nodoubt, however, that we shall be able to obtainthe characteristic reaction.” As he spoke, hethrew into the vessel a few white crystals, andthen added some drops of a transparent fluid.In an instant the contents assumed a dull ma-hogany colour, and a brownish dust was pre-cipitated to the bottom of the glass jar.

“Ha! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands, andlooking as delighted as a child with a new toy.“What do you think of that?”

“It seems to be a very delicate test,” I re-marked.

“Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacumtest was very clumsy and uncertain. So is themicroscopic examination for blood corpuscles.The latter is valueless if the stains are a fewhours old. Now, this appears to act as wellwhether the blood is old or new. Had this testbeen invented, there are hundreds of men nowwalking the earth who would long ago havepaid the penalty of their crimes.”

“Indeed!” I murmured.“Criminal cases are continually hinging

upon that one point. A man is suspected of acrime months perhaps after it has been com-mitted. His linen or clothes are examined,and brownish stains discovered upon them.Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust


stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? Thatis a question which has puzzled many an ex-pert, and why? Because there was no reliabletest. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes’ test,and there will no longer be any difficulty.”

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, andhe put his hand over his heart and bowed as ifto some applauding crowd conjured up by hisimagination.

“You are to be congratulated,” I remarked,considerably surprised at his enthusiasm.

“There was the case of Von Bischoff atFrankfort last year. He would certainly havebeen hung had this test been in existence.Then there was Mason of Bradford, and thenotorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier,and Samson of new Orleans. I could name ascore of cases in which it would have been de-cisive.”

“You seem to be a walking calendar ofcrime,” said Stamford with a laugh. “Youmight start a paper on those lines. Call it the‘Police News of the Past.”’

“Very interesting reading it might bemade, too,” remarked Sherlock Holmes, stick-ing a small piece of plaster over the prick onhis finger. “I have to be careful,” he continued,turning to me with a smile, “for I dabble withpoisons a good deal.” He held out his hand ashe spoke, and I noticed that it was all mot-tled over with similar pieces of plaster, anddiscoloured with strong acids.

CHAPTER I 15

“We came here on business,” said Stam-ford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool,and pushing another one in my direction withhis foot. “My friend here wants to take dig-gings, and as you were complaining that youcould get no one to go halves with you, Ithought that I had better bring you together.”

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at theidea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have myeye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “whichwould suit us down to the ground. You don’tmind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I an-swered.

“That’s good enough. I generally havechemicals about, and occasionally do experi-ments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”“Let me see—what are my other shortcom-

ings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’topen my mouth for days on end. You must notthink I am sulky when I do that. Just let mealone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you toconfess now? It’s just as well for two fellowsto know the worst of one another before theybegin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “Ikeep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to rowsbecause my nerves are shaken, and I get up atall sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremelylazy. I have another set of vices when I’m well,but those are the principal ones at present.”


“Do you include violin-playing in your cat-egory of rows?” he asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “Awell-played violin is a treat for the gods—abadly-played one—”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with amerry laugh. “I think we may consider thething as settled—that is, if the rooms areagreeable to you.”

“When shall we see them?”“Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and

we’ll go together and settle everything,” he an-swered.

“All right—noon exactly,” said I, shakinghis hand.

We left him working among his chemicals,and we walked together towards my hotel.

“By the way,” I asked suddenly, stop-ping and turning upon Stamford, “how thedeuce did he know that I had come fromAfghanistan?”

My companion smiled an enigmaticalsmile. “That’s just his little peculiarity,” hesaid. “A good many people have wanted toknow how he finds things out.”

“Oh! a mystery is it?” I cried, rubbing myhands. “This is very piquant. I am muchobliged to you for bringing us together. ‘Theproper study of mankind is man,’ you know.”

“You must study him, then,” Stamfordsaid, as he bade me good-bye. “You’ll find hima knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns

CHAPTER I 17

more about you than you about him. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” I answered, and strolled on tomy hotel, considerably interested in my newacquaintance.

CHAPTER II. THESCIENCE OFDEDUCTION.

We met next day as he had arranged, and in-spected the rooms at No. 221B, Baker Street,of which he had spoken at our meeting. Theyconsisted of a couple of comfortable bed-roomsand a single large airy sitting-room, cheer-fully furnished, and illuminated by two broadwindows. So desirable in every way were theapartments, and so moderate did the termsseem when divided between us, that the bar-gain was concluded upon the spot, and weat once entered into possession. That veryevening I moved my things round from thehotel, and on the following morning SherlockHolmes followed me with several boxes andportmanteaus. For a day or two we werebusily employed in unpacking and laying outour property to the best advantage. Thatdone, we gradually began to settle down andto accommodate ourselves to our new sur-

19


roundings.Holmes was certainly not a difficult man

to live with. He was quiet in his ways, andhis habits were regular. It was rare for himto be up after ten at night, and he had in-variably breakfasted and gone out before Irose in the morning. Sometimes he spent hisday at the chemical laboratory, sometimes inthe dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in longwalks, which appeared to take him into thelowest portions of the City. Nothing couldexceed his energy when the working fit wasupon him; but now and again a reaction wouldseize him, and for days on end he would lieupon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly ut-tering a word or moving a muscle from morn-ing to night. On these occasions I have noticedsuch a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes,that I might have suspected him of being ad-dicted to the use of some narcotic, had not thetemperance and cleanliness of his whole lifeforbidden such a notion.

As the weeks went by, my interest in himand my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradu-ally deepened and increased. His very personand appearance were such as to strike the at-tention of the most casual observer. In heighthe was rather over six feet, and so excessivelylean that he seemed to be considerably taller.His eyes were sharp and piercing, save dur-ing those intervals of torpor to which I havealluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave

CHAPTER II 21

his whole expression an air of alertness anddecision. His chin, too, had the prominenceand squareness which mark the man of de-termination. His hands were invariably blot-ted with ink and stained with chemicals, yethe was possessed of extraordinary delicacy oftouch, as I frequently had occasion to observewhen I watched him manipulating his fragilephilosophical instruments.

The reader may set me down as a hope-less busybody, when I confess how much thisman stimulated my curiosity, and how oftenI endeavoured to break through the reticencewhich he showed on all that concerned him-self. Before pronouncing judgment, however,be it remembered, how objectless was my life,and how little there was to engage my atten-tion. My health forbade me from venturingout unless the weather was exceptionally ge-nial, and I had no friends who would call uponme and break the monotony of my daily exis-tence. Under these circumstances, I eagerlyhailed the little mystery which hung aroundmy companion, and spent much of my time inendeavouring to unravel it.

He was not studying medicine. He hadhimself, in reply to a question, confirmedStamford’s opinion upon that point. Neitherdid he appear to have pursued any course ofreading which might fit him for a degree inscience or any other recognized portal whichwould give him an entrance into the learned


world. Yet his zeal for certain studies wasremarkable, and within eccentric limits hisknowledge was so extraordinarily ample andminute that his observations have fairly as-tounded me. Surely no man would work sohard or attain such precise information unlesshe had some definite end in view. Desultoryreaders are seldom remarkable for the exact-ness of their learning. No man burdens hismind with small matters unless he has somevery good reason for doing so.

His ignorance was as remarkable as hisknowledge. Of contemporary literature, phi-losophy and politics he appeared to know nextto nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Car-lyle, he inquired in the naivest way who hemight be and what he had done. My surprisereached a climax, however, when I found in-cidentally that he was ignorant of the Coper-nican Theory and of the composition of theSolar System. That any civilized human be-ing in this nineteenth century should not beaware that the earth travelled round the sunappeared to be to me such an extraordinaryfact that I could hardly realize it.

“You appear to be astonished,” he said,smiling at my expression of surprise. “Nowthat I do know it I shall do my best to forgetit.”

“To forget it!”“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a

man’s brain originally is like a little empty at-

CHAPTER II 23

tic, and you have to stock it with such furni-ture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lum-ber of every sort that he comes across, so thatthe knowledge which might be useful to himgets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up witha lot of other things so that he has a difficultyin laying his hands upon it. Now the skilfulworkman is very careful indeed as to what hetakes into his brain-attic. He will have noth-ing but the tools which may help him in doinghis work, but of these he has a large assort-ment, and all in the most perfect order. It isa mistake to think that that little room haselastic walls and can distend to any extent.Depend upon it there comes a time when forevery addition of knowledge you forget some-thing that you knew before. It is of the high-est importance, therefore, not to have uselessfacts elbowing out the useful ones.”

“But the Solar System!” I protested.“What the deuce is it to me?” he inter-

rupted impatiently; “you say that we go roundthe sun. If we went round the moon it wouldnot make a pennyworth of difference to me orto my work.”

I was on the point of asking him what thatwork might be, but something in his mannershowed me that the question would be an un-welcome one. I pondered over our short con-versation, however, and endeavoured to drawmy deductions from it. He said that he wouldacquire no knowledge which did not bear upon


his object. Therefore all the knowledge whichhe possessed was such as would be useful tohim. I enumerated in my own mind all thevarious points upon which he had shown methat he was exceptionally well-informed. Ieven took a pencil and jotted them down. Icould not help smiling at the document whenI had completed it. It ran in this way—

SHERLOCK HOLMES—his limits.

1. Knowledge of Literature.—Nil.

2. Philosophy.—Nil.

3. Astronomy.—Nil.

4. Politics.—Feeble.

5. Botany.—Variable. Well up in bel-ladonna, opium, and poisons generally.Knows nothing of practical gardening.

6. Geology.—Practical, but limited. Tells ata glance different soils from each other.After walks has shown me splashes uponhis trousers, and told me by their colourand consistence in what part of Londonhe had received them.

7. Chemistry.—Profound.

8. Anatomy.—Accurate, but unsystematic.

CHAPTER II 25

9. Sensational Literature.—Immense. Heappears to know every detail of everyhorror perpetrated in the century.

10. Plays the violin well.

11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer,and swordsman.

12. Has a good practical knowledge ofBritish law.

When I had got so far in my list I threw itinto the fire in despair. “If I can only findwhat the fellow is driving at by reconcilingall these accomplishments, and discovering acalling which needs them all,” I said to myself,“I may as well give up the attempt at once.”

I see that I have alluded above to his pow-ers upon the violin. These were very re-markable, but as eccentric as all his otheraccomplishments. That he could play pieces,and difficult pieces, I knew well, becauseat my request he has played me some ofMendelssohn’s Lieder, and other favourites.When left to himself, however, he would sel-dom produce any music or attempt any recog-nized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of anevening, he would close his eyes and scrapecarelessly at the fiddle which was thrownacross his knee. Sometimes the chords weresonorous and melancholy. Occasionally theywere fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they re-flected the thoughts which possessed him, but


LEANING BACK IN HIS ARM-CHAIR OF ANEVENING, HE WOULD CLOSE HIS EYES AND

SCRAPE CARELESSLY AT THE FIDDLE WHICHWAS THROWN ACROSS HIS KNEE.

CHAPTER II 27

whether the music aided those thoughts, orwhether the playing was simply the result ofa whim or fancy was more than I could deter-mine. I might have rebelled against these ex-asperating solos had it not been that he usu-ally terminated them by playing in quick suc-cession a whole series of my favourite airs asa slight compensation for the trial upon mypatience.

During the first week or so we had nocallers, and I had begun to think that mycompanion was as friendless a man as I wasmyself. Presently, however, I found that hehad many acquaintances, and those in themost different classes of society. There wasone little sallow rat-faced, dark-eyed fellowwho was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade,and who came three or four times in a sin-gle week. One morning a young girl called,fashionably dressed, and stayed for half anhour or more. The same afternoon brought agrey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jewpedlar, who appeared to me to be much ex-cited, and who was closely followed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On another occasion anold white-haired gentleman had an interviewwith my companion; and on another a railwayporter in his velveteen uniform. When anyof these nondescript individuals put in an ap-pearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for theuse of the sitting-room, and I would retire tomy bed-room. He always apologized to me for


putting me to this inconvenience. “I have touse this room as a place of business,” he said,“and these people are my clients.” Again I hadan opportunity of asking him a point blankquestion, and again my delicacy prevented mefrom forcing another man to confide in me. Iimagined at the time that he had some strongreason for not alluding to it, but he soon dis-pelled the idea by coming round to the subjectof his own accord.

It was upon the 4th of March, as I havegood reason to remember, that I rose some-what earlier than usual, and found that Sher-lock Holmes had not yet finished his break-fast. The landlady had become so accustomedto my late habits that my place had not beenlaid nor my coffee prepared. With the unrea-sonable petulance of mankind I rang the belland gave a curt intimation that I was ready.Then I picked up a magazine from the tableand attempted to while away the time with it,while my companion munched silently at histoast. One of the articles had a pencil mark atthe heading, and I naturally began to run myeye through it.

Its somewhat ambitious title was “TheBook of Life,” and it attempted to show howmuch an observant man might learn by anaccurate and systematic examination of allthat came in his way. It struck me as beinga remarkable mixture of shrewdness and ofabsurdity. The reasoning was close and in-

CHAPTER II 29

tense, but the deductions appeared to me tobe far-fetched and exaggerated. The writerclaimed by a momentary expression, a twitchof a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom aman’s inmost thoughts. Deceit, according tohim, was an impossibility in the case of onetrained to observation and analysis. His con-clusions were as infallible as so many propo-sitions of Euclid. So startling would his re-sults appear to the uninitiated that until theylearned the processes by which he had arrivedat them they might well consider him as anecromancer.

“From a drop of water,” said the writer, “alogician could infer the possibility of an At-lantic or a Niagara without having seen orheard of one or the other. So all life is agreat chain, the nature of which is knownwhenever we are shown a single link of it.Like all other arts, the Science of Deductionand Analysis is one which can only be ac-quired by long and patient study nor is lifelong enough to allow any mortal to attain thehighest possible perfection in it. Before turn-ing to those moral and mental aspects of thematter which present the greatest difficulties,let the enquirer begin by mastering more el-ementary problems. Let him, on meeting afellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguishthe history of the man, and the trade or pro-fession to which he belongs. Puerile as suchan exercise may seem, it sharpens the facul-


ties of observation, and teaches one where tolook and what to look for. By a man’s fingernails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by histrouser knees, by the callosities of his forefin-ger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirtcuffs—by each of these things a man’s callingis plainly revealed. That all united should failto enlighten the competent enquirer in anycase is almost inconceivable.”

“What ineffable twaddle!” I cried, slappingthe magazine down on the table, “I never readsuch rubbish in my life.”

“What is it?” asked Sherlock Holmes.“Why, this article,” I said, pointing at it

with my egg spoon as I sat down to my break-fast. “I see that you have read it since youhave marked it. I don’t deny that it is smartlywritten. It irritates me though. It is evi-dently the theory of some arm-chair loungerwho evolves all these neat little paradoxes inthe seclusion of his own study. It is not prac-tical. I should like to see him clapped downin a third class carriage on the Underground,and asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. I would lay a thousand to oneagainst him.”

“You would lose your money,” SherlockHolmes remarked calmly. “As for the articleI wrote it myself.”

“You!”“Yes, I have a turn both for observation and

for deduction. The theories which I have ex-

CHAPTER II 31

pressed there, and which appear to you to beso chimerical are really extremely practical—so practical that I depend upon them for mybread and cheese.”

“And how?” I asked involuntarily.“Well, I have a trade of my own. I sup-

pose I am the only one in the world. I’m aconsulting detective, if you can understandwhat that is. Here in London we have lotsof Government detectives and lots of privateones. When these fellows are at fault theycome to me, and I manage to put them on theright scent. They lay all the evidence beforeme, and I am generally able, by the help ofmy knowledge of the history of crime, to setthem straight. There is a strong family re-semblance about misdeeds, and if you have allthe details of a thousand at your finger ends,it is odd if you can’t unravel the thousand andfirst. Lestrade is a well-known detective. Hegot himself into a fog recently over a forgerycase, and that was what brought him here.”

“And these other people?”“They are mostly sent on by private in-

quiry agencies. They are all people who arein trouble about something, and want a littleenlightening. I listen to their story, they listento my comments, and then I pocket my fee.”

“But do you mean to say,” I said, “thatwithout leaving your room you can unravelsome knot which other men can make noth-ing of, although they have seen every detail


for themselves?”“Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that

way. Now and again a case turns up which isa little more complex. Then I have to bustleabout and see things with my own eyes. Yousee I have a lot of special knowledge whichI apply to the problem, and which facilitatesmatters wonderfully. Those rules of deduc-tion laid down in that article which arousedyour scorn, are invaluable to me in practicalwork. Observation with me is second nature.You appeared to be surprised when I told you,on our first meeting, that you had come fromAfghanistan.”

“You were told, no doubt.”“Nothing of the sort. I knew you came

from Afghanistan. From long habit the trainof thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind,that I arrived at the conclusion without beingconscious of intermediate steps. There weresuch steps, however. The train of reasoningran, ‘Here is a gentleman of a medical type,but with the air of a military man. Clearlyan army doctor, then. He has just come fromthe tropics, for his face is dark, and that isnot the natural tint of his skin, for his wristsare fair. He has undergone hardship and sick-ness, as his haggard face says clearly. His leftarm has been injured. He holds it in a stiffand unnatural manner. Where in the tropicscould an English army doctor have seen muchhardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly

CHAPTER II 33

in Afghanistan.’ The whole train of thoughtdid not occupy a second. I then remarked thatyou came from Afghanistan, and you were as-tonished.”

“It is simple enough as you explain it,” Isaid, smiling. “You remind me of Edgar AllenPoe’s Dupin. I had no idea that such individu-als did exist outside of stories.”

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. “Nodoubt you think that you are complimentingme in comparing me to Dupin,” he observed.“Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very infe-rior fellow. That trick of his of breaking inon his friends’ thoughts with an apropos re-mark after a quarter of an hour’s silence is re-ally very showy and superficial. He had someanalytical genius, no doubt; but he was by nomeans such a phenomenon as Poe appeared toimagine.”

“Have you read Gaboriau’s works?” Iasked. “Does Lecoq come up to your idea ofa detective?”

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically.“Lecoq was a miserable bungler,” he said, inan angry voice; “he had only one thing to rec-ommend him, and that was his energy. Thatbook made me positively ill. The questionwas how to identify an unknown prisoner.I could have done it in twenty-four hours.Lecoq took six months or so. It might be madea text-book for detectives to teach them whatto avoid.”


I felt rather indignant at having two char-acters whom I had admired treated in thiscavalier style. I walked over to the window,and stood looking out into the busy street.“This fellow may be very clever,” I said to my-self, “but he is certainly very conceited.”

“There are no crimes and no criminals inthese days,” he said, querulously. “What is theuse of having brains in our profession. I knowwell that I have it in me to make my namefamous. No man lives or has ever lived whohas brought the same amount of study and ofnatural talent to the detection of crime whichI have done. And what is the result? There isno crime to detect, or, at most, some bunglingvillany with a motive so transparent that evena Scotland Yard official can see through it.”

I was still annoyed at his bumptious styleof conversation. I thought it best to changethe topic.

“I wonder what that fellow is looking for?” Iasked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly-dressedindividual who was walking slowly down theother side of the street, looking anxiously atthe numbers. He had a large blue envelopein his hand, and was evidently the bearer of amessage.

“You mean the retired sergeant ofMarines,” said Sherlock Holmes.

“Brag and bounce!” thought I to myself.“He knows that I cannot verify his guess.”

The thought had hardly passed through

CHAPTER II 35

my mind when the man whom we were watch-ing caught sight of the number on our door,and ran rapidly across the roadway. We hearda loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavysteps ascending the stair.

“For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, step-ping into the room and handing my friend theletter.

Here was an opportunity of taking the con-ceit out of him. He little thought of this whenhe made that random shot. “May I ask, mylad,” I said, in the blandest voice, “what yourtrade may be?”

“Commissionaire, sir,” he said, gruffly.“Uniform away for repairs.”

“And you were?” I asked, with a slightlymalicious glance at my companion.

“A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light In-fantry, sir. No answer? Right, sir.”

He clicked his heels together, raised hishand in a salute, and was gone.


“FOR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,” HE SAID.

CHAPTER III. THELAURISTONGARDENMYSTERY

I confess that I was considerably startled bythis fresh proof of the practical nature of mycompanion’s theories. My respect for his pow-ers of analysis increased wondrously. Therestill remained some lurking suspicion in mymind, however, that the whole thing was apre-arranged episode, intended to dazzle me,though what earthly object he could have intaking me in was past my comprehension.When I looked at him he had finished read-ing the note, and his eyes had assumed thevacant, lack-lustre expression which showedmental abstraction.

“How in the world did you deduce that?” Iasked.

“Deduce what?” said he, petulantly.“Why, that he was a retired sergeant of

37


Marines.”“I have no time for trifles,” he answered,

brusquely; then with a smile, “Excuse myrudeness. You broke the thread of mythoughts; but perhaps it is as well. So you ac-tually were not able to see that that man wasa sergeant of Marines?”

“No, indeed.”“It was easier to know it than to explain

why I knew it. If you were asked to provethat two and two made four, you might findsome difficulty, and yet you are quite sure ofthe fact. Even across the street I could seea great blue anchor tattooed on the back ofthe fellow’s hand. That smacked of the sea.He had a military carriage, however, and reg-ulation side whiskers. There we have the ma-rine. He was a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command. Youmust have observed the way in which he heldhis head and swung his cane. A steady, re-spectable, middle-aged man, too, on the faceof him—all facts which led me to believe thathe had been a sergeant.”

“Wonderful!” I ejaculated.“Commonplace,” said Holmes, though I

thought from his expression that he waspleased at my evident surprise and admira-tion. “I said just now that there were no crim-inals. It appears that I am wrong—look atthis!” He threw me over the note which thecommissionaire had brought.

CHAPTER III 39

“Why,” I cried, as I cast my eye over it, “thisis terrible!”

“It does seem to be a little out of the com-mon,” he remarked, calmly. “Would you mindreading it to me aloud?”

This is the letter which I read to him—

“MY DEARMR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—

“There has been a bad businessduring the night at 3, LauristonGardens, off the Brixton Road. Ourman on the beat saw a light thereabout two in the morning, and asthe house was an empty one, sus-pected that something was amiss.He found the door open, and inthe front room, which is bare offurniture, discovered the body of agentleman, well dressed, and hav-ing cards in his pocket bearing thename of ‘Enoch J. Drebber, Cleve-land, Ohio, U.S.A.’ There had beenno robbery, nor is there any evi-dence as to how the man met hisdeath. There are marks of bloodin the room, but there is no woundupon his person. We are at a lossas to how he came into the emptyhouse; indeed, the whole affair is apuzzler. If you can come round tothe house any time before twelve,you will find me there. I have left


everything in statu quo until I hearfrom you. If you are unable to comeI shall give you fuller details, andwould esteem it a great kindnessif you would favour me with youropinion. Yours faithfully,

“TOBIAS GREGSON.”

“Gregson is the smartest of the ScotlandYarders,” my friend remarked; “he andLestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They areboth quick and energetic, but conventional—shockingly so. They have their knives into oneanother, too. They are as jealous as a pair ofprofessional beauties. There will be some funover this case if they are both put upon thescent.”

I was amazed at the calm way in which herippled on. “Surely there is not a moment tobe lost,” I cried, “shall I go and order you acab?”

“I’m not sure about whether I shall go. Iam the most incurably lazy devil that everstood in shoe leather—that is, when the fit ison me, for I can be spry enough at times.”

“Why, it is just such a chance as you havebeen longing for.”

“My dear fellow, what does it matter to me.Supposing I unravel the whole matter, youmay be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co.will pocket all the credit. That comes of beingan unofficial personage.”

CHAPTER III 41

“But he begs you to help him.”“Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and

acknowledges it to me; but he would cut histongue out before he would own it to any thirdperson. However, we may as well go and havea look. I shall work it out on my own hook.I may have a laugh at them if I have nothingelse. Come on!”

He hustled on his overcoat, and bustledabout in a way that showed that an energeticfit had superseded the apathetic one.

“Get your hat,” he said.“You wish me to come?”“Yes, if you have nothing better to do.” A

minute later we were both in a hansom, driv-ing furiously for the Brixton Road.

It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the house-tops, look-ing like the reflection of the mud-colouredstreets beneath. My companion was in thebest of spirits, and prattled away about Cre-mona fiddles, and the difference between aStradivarius and an Amati. As for myself,I was silent, for the dull weather and themelancholy business upon which we were en-gaged, depressed my spirits.

“You don’t seem to give much thought tothe matter in hand,” I said at last, interrupt-ing Holmes’ musical disquisition.

“No data yet,” he answered. “It is a capi-tal mistake to theorize before you have all theevidence. It biases the judgment.”


“You will have your data soon,” I remarked,pointing with my finger; “this is the BrixtonRoad, and that is the house, if I am not verymuch mistaken.”

“So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We were stilla hundred yards or so from it, but he insistedupon our alighting, and we finished our jour-ney upon foot.

Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. It was one of fourwhich stood back some little way from thestreet, two being occupied and two empty. Thelatter looked out with three tiers of vacantmelancholy windows, which were blank anddreary, save that here and there a “To Let”card had developed like a cataract upon thebleared panes. A small garden sprinkled overwith a scattered eruption of sickly plants sep-arated each of these houses from the street,and was traversed by a narrow pathway, yel-lowish in colour, and consisting apparently ofa mixture of clay and of gravel. The wholeplace was very sloppy from the rain whichhad fallen through the night. The gardenwas bounded by a three-foot brick wall with afringe of wood rails upon the top, and againstthis wall was leaning a stalwart police consta-ble, surrounded by a small knot of loafers, whocraned their necks and strained their eyes inthe vain hope of catching some glimpse of theproceedings within.

I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes

CHAPTER III 43

would at once have hurried into the house andplunged into a study of the mystery. Noth-ing appeared to be further from his intention.With an air of nonchalance which, under thecircumstances, seemed to me to border uponaffectation, he lounged up and down the pave-ment, and gazed vacantly at the ground, thesky, the opposite houses and the line of rail-ings. Having finished his scrutiny, he pro-ceeded slowly down the path, or rather downthe fringe of grass which flanked the path,keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground.Twice he stopped, and once I saw him smile,and heard him utter an exclamation of satis-faction. There were many marks of footstepsupon the wet clayey soil, but since the policehad been coming and going over it, I was un-able to see how my companion could hope tolearn anything from it. Still I had had suchextraordinary evidence of the quickness of hisperceptive faculties, that I had no doubt thathe could see a great deal which was hiddenfrom me.

At the door of the house we were met bya tall, white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with anotebook in his hand, who rushed forward andwrung my companion’s hand with effusion. “Itis indeed kind of you to come,” he said, “I havehad everything left untouched.”

“Except that!” my friend answered, point-ing at the pathway. “If a herd of buffaloeshad passed along there could not be a greater


mess. No doubt, however, you had drawn yourown conclusions, Gregson, before you permit-ted this.”

“I have had so much to do inside thehouse,” the detective said evasively. “My col-league, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had reliedupon him to look after this.”

Holmes glanced at me and raised his eye-brows sardonically. “With two such men asyourself and Lestrade upon the ground, therewill not be much for a third party to find out,”he said.

Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. “I think we have done allthat can be done,” he answered; “it’s a queercase though, and I knew your taste for suchthings.”

“You did not come here in a cab?” askedSherlock Holmes.

“No, sir.”“Nor Lestrade?”“No, sir.”“Then let us go and look at the room.” With

which inconsequent remark he strode on intothe house, followed by Gregson, whose fea-tures expressed his astonishment.

A short passage, bare planked and dusty,led to the kitchen and offices. Two doorsopened out of it to the left and to the right.One of these had obviously been closed formany weeks. The other belonged to thedining-room, which was the apartment in

CHAPTER III 45

which the mysterious affair had occurred.Holmes walked in, and I followed him withthat subdued feeling at my heart which thepresence of death inspires.

It was a large square room, looking all thelarger from the absence of all furniture. Avulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but itwas blotched in places with mildew, and hereand there great strips had become detachedand hung down, exposing the yellow plasterbeneath. Opposite the door was a showy fire-place, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imita-tion white marble. On one corner of this wasstuck the stump of a red wax candle. The soli-tary window was so dirty that the light washazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge toeverything, which was intensified by the thicklayer of dust which coated the whole apart-ment.

All these details I observed afterwards.At present my attention was centred uponthe single grim motionless figure which laystretched upon the boards, with vacant sight-less eyes staring up at the discoloured ceil-ing. It was that of a man about forty-threeor forty-four years of age, middle-sized, broadshouldered, with crisp curling black hair, anda short stubbly beard. He was dressed ina heavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat,with light-coloured trousers, and immaculatecollar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushedand trim, was placed upon the floor beside


MY ATTENTION WAS CENTRED UPON THESINGLE GRIM MOTIONLESS FIGURE WHICH

LAY STRETCHED UPON THE BOARDS.

CHAPTER III 47

him. His hands were clenched and his armsthrown abroad, while his lower limbs were in-terlocked as though his death struggle hadbeen a grievous one. On his rigid face therestood an expression of horror, and as it seemedto me, of hatred, such as I have never seenupon human features. This malignant andterrible contortion, combined with the lowforehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jawgave the dead man a singularly simious andape-like appearance, which was increased byhis writhing, unnatural posture. I have seendeath in many forms, but never has it ap-peared to me in a more fearsome aspect thanin that dark grimy apartment, which lookedout upon one of the main arteries of suburbanLondon.

Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, wasstanding by the doorway, and greeted my com-panion and myself.

“This case will make a stir, sir,” he re-marked. “It beats anything I have seen, and Iam no chicken.”

“There is no clue?” said Gregson.“None at all,” chimed in Lestrade.Sherlock Holmes approached the body,

and, kneeling down, examined it intently.“You are sure that there is no wound?”he asked, pointing to numerous gouts andsplashes of blood which lay all round.

“Positive!” cried both detectives.“Then, of course, this blood belongs to a


second individual—presumably the murderer,if murder has been committed. It reminds meof the circumstances attendant on the deathof Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year ’34. Doyou remember the case, Gregson?”

“No, sir.”“Read it up—you really should. There is

nothing new under the sun. It has all beendone before.”

As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flyinghere, there, and everywhere, feeling, press-ing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyeswore the same far-away expression which Ihave already remarked upon. So swiftly wasthe examination made, that one would hardlyhave guessed the minuteness with which itwas conducted. Finally, he sniffed the deadman’s lips, and then glanced at the soles ofhis patent leather boots.

“He has not been moved at all?” he asked.“No more than was necessary for the pur-

poses of our examination.”“You can take him to the mortuary now,” he

said. “There is nothing more to be learned.”Gregson had a stretcher and four men at

hand. At his call they entered the room,and the stranger was lifted and carried out.As they raised him, a ring tinkled down androlled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it upand stared at it with mystified eyes.

“There’s been a woman here,” he cried. “It’sa woman’s wedding-ring.”

CHAPTER III 49

He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palmof his hand. We all gathered round him andgazed at it. There could be no doubt that thatcirclet of plain gold had once adorned the fin-ger of a bride.

“This complicates matters,” said Greg-son. “Heaven knows, they were complicatedenough before.”

“You’re sure it doesn’t simplify them?” ob-served Holmes. “There’s nothing to be learnedby staring at it. What did you find in his pock-ets?”

“We have it all here,” said Gregson, point-ing to a litter of objects upon one of the bottomsteps of the stairs. “A gold watch, No. 97163,by Barraud, of London. Gold Albert chain,very heavy and solid. Gold ring, with masonicdevice. Gold pin—bull-dog’s head, with ru-bies as eyes. Russian leather card-case, withcards of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland, corre-sponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen. Nopurse, but loose money to the extent of sevenpounds thirteen. Pocket edition of Boccaccio’s‘Decameron,’ with name of Joseph Stangersonupon the fly-leaf. Two letters—one addressedto E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stanger-son.”

“At what address?”“American Exchange, Strand—to be left

till called for. They are both from the GuionSteamship Company, and refer to the sailingof their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that


this unfortunate man was about to return toNew York.”

“Have you made any inquiries as to thisman, Stangerson?”

“I did it at once, sir,” said Gregson. “I havehad advertisements sent to all the newspa-pers, and one of my men has gone to the Amer-ican Exchange, but he has not returned yet.”

“Have you sent to Cleveland?”“We telegraphed this morning.”“How did you word your inquiries?”“We simply detailed the circumstances,

and said that we should be glad of any infor-mation which could help us.”

“You did not ask for particulars on anypoint which appeared to you to be crucial?”

“I asked about Stangerson.”“Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on

which this whole case appears to hinge? Willyou not telegraph again?”

“I have said all I have to say,” said Gregson,in an offended voice.

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, andappeared to be about to make some remark,when Lestrade, who had been in the frontroom while we were holding this conversationin the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rub-bing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfiedmanner.

“Mr. Gregson,” he said, “I have just made adiscovery of the highest importance, and onewhich would have been overlooked had I not

CHAPTER III 51

made a careful examination of the walls.”The little man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke,

and he was evidently in a state of suppressedexultation at having scored a point against hiscolleague.

“Come here,” he said, bustling back intothe room, the atmosphere of which felt clearersince the removal of its ghastly inmate. “Now,stand there!”

He struck a match on his boot and held itup against the wall.

“Look at that!” he said, triumphantly.I have remarked that the paper had fallen

away in parts. In this particular corner ofthe room a large piece had peeled off, leavinga yellow square of coarse plastering. Acrossthis bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word—

RACHE“What do you think of that?” cried the de-

tective, with the air of a showman exhibitinghis show. “This was overlooked because it wasin the darkest corner of the room, and no onethought of looking there. The murderer haswritten it with his or her own blood. See thissmear where it has trickled down the wall!That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow.Why was that corner chosen to write it on? Iwill tell you. See that candle on the mantel-piece. It was lit at the time, and if it was litthis corner would be the brightest instead ofthe darkest portion of the wall.”


“LOOK AT THAT!” HE SAID, TRIUMPHANTLY.

CHAPTER III 53

“And what does it mean now that you havefound it?” asked Gregson in a depreciatoryvoice.

“Mean? Why, it means that the writer wasgoing to put the female name Rachel, but wasdisturbed before he or she had time to finish.You mark my words, when this case comesto be cleared up you will find that a womannamed Rachel has something to do with it. It’sall very well for you to laugh, Mr. SherlockHolmes. You may be very smart and clever,but the old hound is the best, when all is saidand done.”

“I really beg your pardon!” said my com-panion, who had ruffled the little man’s tem-per by bursting into an explosion of laugh-ter. “You certainly have the credit of being thefirst of us to find this out, and, as you say, itbears every mark of having been written bythe other participant in last night’s mystery. Ihave not had time to examine this room yet,but with your permission I shall do so now.”

As he spoke, he whipped a tape measureand a large round magnifying glass from hispocket. With these two implements he trottednoiselessly about the room, sometimes stop-ping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flatupon his face. So engrossed was he with hisoccupation that he appeared to have forgottenour presence, for he chattered away to him-self under his breath the whole time, keep-ing up a running fire of exclamations, groans,


whistles, and little cries suggestive of encour-agement and of hope. As I watched him Iwas irresistibly reminded of a pure-bloodedwell-trained foxhound as it dashes backwardsand forwards through the covert, whining inits eagerness, until it comes across the lostscent. For twenty minutes or more he contin-ued his researches, measuring with the mostexact care the distance between marks whichwere entirely invisible to me, and occasionallyapplying his tape to the walls in an equally in-comprehensible manner. In one place he gath-ered up very carefully a little pile of grey dustfrom the floor, and packed it away in an enve-lope. Finally, he examined with his glass theword upon the wall, going over every letter ofit with the most minute exactness. This done,he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced histape and his glass in his pocket.

“They say that genius is an infinite ca-pacity for taking pains,” he remarked with asmile. “It’s a very bad definition, but it doesapply to detective work.”

Gregson and Lestrade had watched themanœuvres of their amateur companion withconsiderable curiosity and some contempt.They evidently failed to appreciate the fact,which I had begun to realize, that SherlockHolmes’ smallest actions were all directed to-wards some definite and practical end.

“What do you think of it, sir?” they bothasked.

CHAPTER III 55

“It would be robbing you of the credit ofthe case if I was to presume to help you,” re-marked my friend. “You are doing so well nowthat it would be a pity for anyone to inter-fere.” There was a world of sarcasm in hisvoice as he spoke. “If you will let me know howyour investigations go,” he continued, “I shallbe happy to give you any help I can. In themeantime I should like to speak to the consta-ble who found the body. Can you give me hisname and address?”

Lestrade glanced at his note-book. “JohnRance,” he said. “He is off duty now. Youwill find him at 46, Audley Court, KenningtonPark Gate.”

Holmes took a note of the address.“Come along, Doctor,” he said; “we shall

go and look him up. I’ll tell you one thingwhich may help you in the case,” he contin-ued, turning to the two detectives. “There hasbeen murder done, and the murderer was aman. He was more than six feet high, was inthe prime of life, had small feet for his height,wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked aTrichinopoly cigar. He came here with his vic-tim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawnby a horse with three old shoes and one newone on his off fore leg. In all probability themurderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long.These are only a few indications, but they mayassist you.”


Lestrade and Gregson glanced at eachother with an incredulous smile.

“If this man was murdered, how was itdone?” asked the former.

“Poison,” said Sherlock Holmes curtly, andstrode off. “One other thing, Lestrade,” headded, turning round at the door: “‘Rache,’ isthe German for ‘revenge;’ so don’t lose yourtime looking for Miss Rachel.”

With which Parthian shot he walked away,leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behindhim.

CHAPTER IV.WHAT JOHNRANCE HAD TOTELL.

It was one o’clock when we left No. 3, Lau-riston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me tothe nearest telegraph office, whence he dis-patched a long telegram. He then hailed acab, and ordered the driver to take us to theaddress given us by Lestrade.

“There is nothing like first hand evidence,”he remarked; “as a matter of fact, my mind isentirely made up upon the case, but still wemay as well learn all that is to be learned.”

“You amaze me, Holmes,” said I. “Surelyyou are not as sure as you pretend to be ofall those particulars which you gave.”

“There’s no room for a mistake,” he an-swered. “The very first thing which I observedon arriving there was that a cab had made tworuts with its wheels close to the curb. Now, up

57


to last night, we have had no rain for a week,so that those wheels which left such a deepimpression must have been there during thenight. There were the marks of the horse’shoofs, too, the outline of one of which was farmore clearly cut than that of the other three,showing that that was a new shoe. Since thecab was there after the rain began, and wasnot there at any time during the morning—Ihave Gregson’s word for that—it follows thatit must have been there during the night, and,therefore, that it brought those two individu-als to the house.”

“That seems simple enough,” said I; “buthow about the other man’s height?”

“Why, the height of a man, in nine casesout of ten, can be told from the length ofhis stride. It is a simple calculation enough,though there is no use my boring you with fig-ures. I had this fellow’s stride both on theclay outside and on the dust within. Then Ihad a way of checking my calculation. Whena man writes on a wall, his instinct leads himto write about the level of his own eyes. Nowthat writing was just over six feet from theground. It was child’s play.”

“And his age?” I asked.“Well, if a man can stride four and a-half

feet without the smallest effort, he can’t bequite in the sere and yellow. That was thebreadth of a puddle on the garden walk whichhe had evidently walked across. Patent-

CHAPTER IV 59

leather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There is no mysteryabout it at all. I am simply applying to ordi-nary life a few of those precepts of observationand deduction which I advocated in that arti-cle. Is there anything else that puzzles you?”

“The finger nails and the Trichinopoly,” Isuggested.

“The writing on the wall was done with aman’s forefinger dipped in blood. My glassallowed me to observe that the plaster wasslightly scratched in doing it, which wouldnot have been the case if the man’s nail hadbeen trimmed. I gathered up some scatteredash from the floor. It was dark in colour andflakey—such an ash as is only made by aTrichinopoly. I have made a special study ofcigar ashes—in fact, I have written a mono-graph upon the subject. I flatter myself thatI can distinguish at a glance the ash of anyknown brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. Itis just in such details that the skilled detectivediffers from the Gregson and Lestrade type.”

“And the florid face?” I asked.“Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I

have no doubt that I was right. You must notask me that at the present state of the affair.”

I passed my hand over my brow. “My headis in a whirl,” I remarked; “the more onethinks of it the more mysterious it grows. Howcame these two men—if there were two men—into an empty house? What has become of


the cabman who drove them? How could oneman compel another to take poison? Wheredid the blood come from? What was the objectof the murderer, since robbery had no part init? How came the woman’s ring there? Aboveall, why should the second man write up theGerman word RACHE before decamping? Iconfess that I cannot see any possible way ofreconciling all these facts.”

My companion smiled approvingly.“You sum up the difficulties of the situa-

tion succinctly and well,” he said. “There ismuch that is still obscure, though I have quitemade up my mind on the main facts. As topoor Lestrade’s discovery it was simply a blindintended to put the police upon a wrong track,by suggesting Socialism and secret societies.It was not done by a German. The A, if younoticed, was printed somewhat after the Ger-man fashion. Now, a real German invariablyprints in the Latin character, so that we maysafely say that this was not written by one,but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part.It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into awrong channel. I’m not going to tell you muchmore of the case, Doctor. You know a conjurorgets no credit when once he has explained histrick, and if I show you too much of my methodof working, you will come to the conclusionthat I am a very ordinary individual after all.”

“I shall never do that,” I answered; “youhave brought detection as near an exact sci-

CHAPTER IV 61

ence as it ever will be brought in this world.”My companion flushed up with pleasure at

my words, and the earnest way in which I ut-tered them. I had already observed that hewas as sensitive to flattery on the score of hisart as any girl could be of her beauty.

“I’ll tell you one other thing,” he said.“Patent leathers and Square-toes came in thesame cab, and they walked down the pathwaytogether as friendly as possible—arm-in-arm,in all probability. When they got inside theywalked up and down the room—or rather,Patent-leathers stood still while Square-toeswalked up and down. I could read all that inthe dust; and I could read that as he walkedhe grew more and more excited. That isshown by the increased length of his strides.He was talking all the while, and workinghimself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then thetragedy occurred. I’ve told you all I know my-self now, for the rest is mere surmise and con-jecture. We have a good working basis, how-ever, on which to start. We must hurry up, forI want to go to Halle’s concert to hear NormanNeruda this afternoon.”

This conversation had occurred while ourcab had been threading its way through along succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of themour driver suddenly came to a stand. “That’sAudley Court in there,” he said, pointing to anarrow slit in the line of dead-coloured brick.


“You’ll find me here when you come back.”Audley Court was not an attractive local-

ity. The narrow passage led us into a quad-rangle paved with flags and lined by sordiddwellings. We picked our way among groupsof dirty children, and through lines of dis-coloured linen, until we came to Number 46,the door of which was decorated with a smallslip of brass on which the name Rance was en-graved. On enquiry we found that the consta-ble was in bed, and we were shown into a littlefront parlour to await his coming.

He appeared presently, looking a little ir-ritable at being disturbed in his slumbers. “Imade my report at the office,” he said.

Holmes took a half-sovereign from hispocket and played with it pensively. “Wethought that we should like to hear it all fromyour own lips,” he said.

“I shall be most happy to tell you anythingI can,” the constable answered with his eyesupon the little golden disk.

“Just let us hear it all in your own way asit occurred.”

Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, andknitted his brows as though determined not toomit anything in his narrative.

“I’ll tell it ye from the beginning,” he said.“My time is from ten at night to six in themorning. At eleven there was a fight atthe ‘White Hart’; but bar that all was quietenough on the beat. At one o’clock it began

CHAPTER IV 63

THE DOOR WAS DECORATED WITH A SMALLSLIP OF BRASS ON WHICH THE NAME RANCE

WAS ENGRAVED.


to rain, and I met Harry Murcher—him whohas the Holland Grove beat—and we stoodtogether at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin’. Presently—maybe about two or a lit-tle after—I thought I would take a look roundand see that all was right down the BrixtonRoad. It was precious dirty and lonely. Nota soul did I meet all the way down, thougha cab or two went past me. I was a strollin’down, thinkin’ between ourselves how uncom-mon handy a four of gin hot would be, whensuddenly the glint of a light caught my eye inthe window of that same house. Now, I knewthat them two houses in Lauriston Gardenswas empty on account of him that owns themwho won’t have the drains seed to, though thevery last tenant what lived in one of them diedo’ typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heaptherefore at seeing a light in the window, andI suspected as something was wrong. When Igot to the door—”

“You stopped, and then walked back tothe garden gate,” my companion interrupted.“What did you do that for?”

Rance gave a violent jump, and stared atSherlock Holmes with the utmost amazementupon his features.

“Why, that’s true, sir,” he said; “thoughhow you come to know it, Heaven only knows.Ye see, when I got up to the door it was sostill and so lonesome, that I thought I’d benone the worse for some one with me. I ain’t

CHAPTER IV 65

afeared of anything on this side o’ the grave;but I thought that maybe it was him thatdied o’ the typhoid inspecting the drains whatkilled him. The thought gave me a kind o’turn, and I walked back to the gate to see if Icould see Murcher’s lantern, but there wasn’tno sign of him nor of anyone else.”

“There was no one in the street?”“Not a livin’ soul, sir, nor as much as a dog.

Then I pulled myself together and went backand pushed the door open. All was quiet in-side, so I went into the room where the lightwas a-burnin’. There was a candle flickerin’on the mantelpiece—a red wax one—and byits light I saw—”

“Yes, I know all that you saw. Youwalked round the room several times, andyou knelt down by the body, and then youwalked through and tried the kitchen door,and then—”

John Rance sprang to his feet with a fright-ened face and suspicion in his eyes. “Wherewas you hid to see all that?” he cried. “Itseems to me that you knows a deal more thanyou should.”

Holmes laughed and threw his card acrossthe table to the constable. “Don’t get arrestingme for the murder,” he said. “I am one of thehounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr.Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though.What did you do next?”

Rance resumed his seat, without however


losing his mystified expression. “I went backto the gate and sounded my whistle. Thatbrought Murcher and two more to the spot.”

“Was the street empty then?”“Well, it was, as far as anybody that could

be of any good goes.”“What do you mean?”The constable’s features broadened into a

grin. “I’ve seen many a drunk chap in mytime,” he said, “but never anyone so cryin’drunk as that cove. He was at the gatewhen I came out, a-leanin’ up agin the rail-ings, and a-singin’ at the pitch o’ his lungsabout Columbine’s New-fangled Banner, orsome such stuff. He couldn’t stand, far lesshelp.”

“What sort of a man was he?” asked Sher-lock Holmes.

John Rance appeared to be somewhat irri-tated at this digression. “He was an uncom-mon drunk sort o’ man,” he said. “He’d ha’found hisself in the station if we hadn’t beenso took up.”

“His face—his dress—didn’t you noticethem?” Holmes broke in impatiently.

“I should think I did notice them, seeingthat I had to prop him up—me and Murcherbetween us. He was a long chap, with a redface, the lower part muffled round—”

“That will do,” cried Holmes. “What be-came of him?”

“We’d enough to do without lookin’ after

CHAPTER IV 67

“I’VE SEEN MANY A DRUNK CHAP IN MYTIME,” HE SAID, “BUT NEVER ANYONE SO

CRYIN’ DRUNK AS THAT COVE.”


him,” the policeman said, in an aggrievedvoice. “I’ll wager he found his way home allright.”

“How was he dressed?”“A brown overcoat.”“Had he a whip in his hand?”“A whip—no.”“He must have left it behind,” muttered my

companion. “You didn’t happen to see or heara cab after that?”

“No.”“There’s a half-sovereign for you,” my com-

panion said, standing up and taking his hat.“I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise inthe force. That head of yours should be for useas well as ornament. You might have gainedyour sergeant’s stripes last night. The manwhom you held in your hands is the man whoholds the clue of this mystery, and whom weare seeking. There is no use of arguing aboutit now; I tell you that it is so. Come along,Doctor.”

We started off for the cab together, leavingour informant incredulous, but obviously un-comfortable.

“The blundering fool,” Holmes said, bit-terly, as we drove back to our lodgings. “Justto think of his having such an incomparablebit of good luck, and not taking advantage ofit.”

“I am rather in the dark still. It is true thatthe description of this man tallies with your

CHAPTER IV 69

idea of the second party in this mystery. Butwhy should he come back to the house afterleaving it? That is not the way of criminals.”

“The ring, man, the ring: that was whathe came back for. If we have no other wayof catching him, we can always bait our linewith the ring. I shall have him, Doctor—I’lllay you two to one that I have him. I mustthank you for it all. I might not have gone butfor you, and so have missed the finest study Iever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Whyshouldn’t we use a little art jargon. There’sthe scarlet thread of murder running throughthe colourless skein of life, and our duty isto unravel it, and isolate it, and expose ev-ery inch of it. And now for lunch, and thenfor Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bow-ing are splendid. What’s that little thing ofChopin’s she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay.”

Leaning back in the cab, this amateurbloodhound carolled away like a lark while Imeditated upon the many-sidedness of the hu-man mind.

CHAPTER V. OURADVERTISEMENTBRINGS AVISITOR.

Our morning’s exertions had been too muchfor my weak health, and I was tired out inthe afternoon. After Holmes’ departure forthe concert, I lay down upon the sofa and en-deavoured to get a couple of hours’ sleep. Itwas a useless attempt. My mind had been toomuch excited by all that had occurred, and thestrangest fancies and surmises crowded intoit. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw be-fore me the distorted baboon-like countenanceof the murdered man. So sinister was the im-pression which that face had produced uponme that I found it difficult to feel anything butgratitude for him who had removed its ownerfrom the world. If ever human features be-spoke vice of the most malignant type, theywere certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of

71


Cleveland. Still I recognized that justice mustbe done, and that the depravity of the victimwas no condonement in the eyes of the law.

The more I thought of it the more extraor-dinary did my companion’s hypothesis, thatthe man had been poisoned, appear. I remem-bered how he had sniffed his lips, and had nodoubt that he had detected something whichhad given rise to the idea. Then, again, ifnot poison, what had caused the man’s death,since there was neither wound nor marks ofstrangulation? But, on the other hand, whoseblood was that which lay so thickly upon thefloor? There were no signs of a struggle, norhad the victim any weapon with which hemight have wounded an antagonist. As longas all these questions were unsolved, I feltthat sleep would be no easy matter, eitherfor Holmes or myself. His quiet self-confidentmanner convinced me that he had alreadyformed a theory which explained all the facts,though what it was I could not for an instantconjecture.

He was very late in returning—so late,that I knew that the concert could not havedetained him all the time. Dinner was on thetable before he appeared.

“It was magnificent,” he said, as he tookhis seat. “Do you remember what Darwin saysabout music? He claims that the power of pro-ducing and appreciating it existed among thehuman race long before the power of speech

CHAPTER V 73

was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we areso subtly influenced by it. There are vaguememories in our souls of those misty centurieswhen the world was in its childhood.”

“That’s rather a broad idea,” I remarked.“One’s ideas must be as broad as Nature

if they are to interpret Nature,” he answered.“What’s the matter? You’re not looking quiteyourself. This Brixton Road affair has upsetyou.”

“To tell the truth, it has,” I said. “I oughtto be more case-hardened after my Afghan ex-periences. I saw my own comrades hacked topieces at Maiwand without losing my nerve.”

“I can understand. There is a mysteryabout this which stimulates the imagination;where there is no imagination there is no hor-ror. Have you seen the evening paper?”

“No.”“It gives a fairly good account of the affair.

It does not mention the fact that when theman was raised up, a woman’s wedding ringfell upon the floor. It is just as well it doesnot.”

“Why?”“Look at this advertisement,” he answered.

“I had one sent to every paper this morningimmediately after the affair.”

He threw the paper across to me and Iglanced at the place indicated. It was the firstannouncement in the “Found” column. “InBrixton Road, this morning,” it ran, “a plain


gold wedding ring, found in the roadway be-tween the ‘White Hart’ Tavern and HollandGrove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221B, Baker Street,between eight and nine this evening.”

“Excuse my using your name,” he said. “IfI used my own some of these dunderheadswould recognize it, and want to meddle in theaffair.”

“That is all right,” I answered. “But sup-posing anyone applies, I have no ring.”

“Oh yes, you have,” said he, handing meone. “This will do very well. It is almost afacsimile.”

“And who do you expect will answer thisadvertisement.”

“Why, the man in the brown coat—ourflorid friend with the square toes. If he doesnot come himself he will send an accomplice.”

“Would he not consider it as too danger-ous?”

“Not at all. If my view of the case is correct,and I have every reason to believe that it is,this man would rather risk anything than losethe ring. According to my notion he droppedit while stooping over Drebber’s body, and didnot miss it at the time. After leaving thehouse he discovered his loss and hurried back,but found the police already in possession, ow-ing to his own folly in leaving the candle burn-ing. He had to pretend to be drunk in orderto allay the suspicions which might have beenaroused by his appearance at the gate. Now

CHAPTER V 75

put yourself in that man’s place. On think-ing the matter over, it must have occurred tohim that it was possible that he had lost thering in the road after leaving the house. Whatwould he do, then? He would eagerly look outfor the evening papers in the hope of seeing itamong the articles found. His eye, of course,would light upon this. He would be overjoyed.Why should he fear a trap? There would beno reason in his eyes why the finding of thering should be connected with the murder. Hewould come. He will come. You shall see himwithin an hour?”

“And then?” I asked.“Oh, you can leave me to deal with him

then. Have you any arms?”“I have my old service revolver and a few

cartridges.”“You had better clean it and load it. He

will be a desperate man, and though I shalltake him unawares, it is as well to be readyfor anything.”

I went to my bedroom and followed his ad-vice. When I returned with the pistol the tablehad been cleared, and Holmes was engaged inhis favourite occupation of scraping upon hisviolin.

“The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered;“I have just had an answer to my Americantelegram. My view of the case is the correctone.”

“And that is?” I asked eagerly.


“My fiddle would be the better for newstrings,” he remarked. “Put your pistol inyour pocket. When the fellow comes speakto him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest tome. Don’t frighten him by looking at him toohard.”

“It is eight o’clock now,” I said, glancing atmy watch.

“Yes. He will probably be here in a fewminutes. Open the door slightly. That willdo. Now put the key on the inside. Thankyou! This is a queer old book I picked upat a stall yesterday—‘De Jure inter Gentes’—published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands,in 1642. Charles’ head was still firm on hisshoulders when this little brown-backed vol-ume was struck off.”

“Who is the printer?”“Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have

been. On the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, iswritten ‘Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte.’ I wonderwho William Whyte was. Some pragmaticalseventeenth century lawyer, I suppose. Hiswriting has a legal twist about it. Here comesour man, I think.”

As he spoke there was a sharp ring at thebell. Sherlock Holmes rose softly and movedhis chair in the direction of the door. We heardthe servant pass along the hall, and the sharpclick of the latch as she opened it.

“Does Dr. Watson live here?” asked a clearbut rather harsh voice. We could not hear the

CHAPTER V 77

servant’s reply, but the door closed, and someone began to ascend the stairs. The footfallwas an uncertain and shuffling one. A look ofsurprise passed over the face of my compan-ion as he listened to it. It came slowly alongthe passage, and there was a feeble tap at thedoor.

“Come in,” I cried.At my summons, instead of the man of vio-

lence whom we expected, a very old and wrin-kled woman hobbled into the apartment. Sheappeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze oflight, and after dropping a curtsey, she stoodblinking at us with her bleared eyes and fum-bling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fin-gers. I glanced at my companion, and his facehad assumed such a disconsolate expressionthat it was all I could do to keep my counte-nance.

The old crone drew out an evening paper,and pointed at our advertisement. “It’s thisas has brought me, good gentlemen,” she said,dropping another curtsey; “a gold weddingring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girlSally, as was married only this time twelve-month, which her husband is steward aboarda Union boat, and what he’d say if he come’ome and found her without her ring is morethan I can think, he being short enough at thebest o’ times, but more especially when he hasthe drink. If it please you, she went to thecircus last night along with—”


A VERY OLD AND WRINKLED WOMANHOBBLED INTO THE APARTMENT.

CHAPTER V 79

“Is that her ring?” I asked.“The Lord be thanked!” cried the old

woman; “Sally will be a glad woman thisnight. That’s the ring.”

“And what may your address be?” I in-quired, taking up a pencil.

“13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A wearyway from here.”

“The Brixton Road does not lie betweenany circus and Houndsditch,” said SherlockHolmes sharply.

The old woman faced round and lookedkeenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes.“The gentleman asked me for my address,” shesaid. “Sally lives in lodgings at 3, MayfieldPlace, Peckham.”

“And your name is—?”“My name is Sawyer—her’s is Dennis,

which Tom Dennis married her—and a smart,clean lad, too, as long as he’s at sea, and nosteward in the company more thought of; butwhen on shore, what with the women andwhat with liquor shops—”

“Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer,” I inter-rupted, in obedience to a sign from my com-panion; “it clearly belongs to your daughter,and I am glad to be able to restore it to therightful owner.”

With many mumbled blessings and protes-tations of gratitude the old crone packed itaway in her pocket, and shuffled off down thestairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the


moment that she was gone and rushed intohis room. He returned in a few seconds en-veloped in an ulster and a cravat. “I’ll followher,” he said, hurriedly; “she must be an ac-complice, and will lead me to him. Wait up forme.” The hall door had hardly slammed be-hind our visitor before Holmes had descendedthe stair. Looking through the window I couldsee her walking feebly along the other side,while her pursuer dogged her some little dis-tance behind. “Either his whole theory is in-correct,” I thought to myself, “or else he willbe led now to the heart of the mystery.” Therewas no need for him to ask me to wait up forhim, for I felt that sleep was impossible untilI heard the result of his adventure.

It was close upon nine when he set out.I had no idea how long he might be, but Isat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skippingover the pages of Henri Murger’s “Vie de Bo-hème.” Ten o’clock passed, and I heard thefootsteps of the maid as they pattered off tobed. Eleven, and the more stately tread of thelandlady passed my door, bound for the samedestination. It was close upon twelve beforeI heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. Theinstant he entered I saw by his face that hehad not been successful. Amusement and cha-grin seemed to be struggling for the mastery,until the former suddenly carried the day, andhe burst into a hearty laugh.

“I wouldn’t have the Scotland Yarders

CHAPTER V 81

know it for the world,” he cried, dropping intohis chair; “I have chaffed them so much thatthey would never have let me hear the end ofit. I can afford to laugh, because I know that Iwill be even with them in the long run.”

“What is it then?” I asked.“Oh, I don’t mind telling a story against

myself. That creature had gone a little waywhen she began to limp and show every signof being foot-sore. Presently she came to ahalt, and hailed a four-wheeler which waspassing. I managed to be close to her so asto hear the address, but I need not have beenso anxious, for she sang it out loud enough tobe heard at the other side of the street, ‘Driveto 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch,’ she cried.This begins to look genuine, I thought, andhaving seen her safely inside, I perched my-self behind. That’s an art which every detec-tive should be an expert at. Well, away werattled, and never drew rein until we reachedthe street in question. I hopped off before wecame to the door, and strolled down the streetin an easy, lounging way. I saw the cab pullup. The driver jumped down, and I saw himopen the door and stand expectantly. Noth-ing came out though. When I reached himhe was groping about frantically in the emptycab, and giving vent to the finest assorted col-lection of oaths that ever I listened to. Therewas no sign or trace of his passenger, and Ifear it will be some time before he gets his


fare. On inquiring at Number 13 we foundthat the house belonged to a respectable pa-perhanger, named Keswick, and that no oneof the name either of Sawyer or Dennis hadever been heard of there.”

“You don’t mean to say,” I cried, in amaze-ment, “that that tottering, feeble old womanwas able to get out of the cab while it was inmotion, without either you or the driver see-ing her?”

“Old woman be damned!” said SherlockHolmes, sharply. “We were the old women tobe so taken in. It must have been a youngman, and an active one, too, besides beingan incomparable actor. The get-up was inim-itable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt,and used this means of giving me the slip.It shows that the man we are after is not aslonely as I imagined he was, but has friendswho are ready to risk something for him. Now,Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my ad-vice and turn in.”

I was certainly feeling very weary, so Iobeyed his injunction. I left Holmes seated infront of the smouldering fire, and long into thewatches of the night I heard the low, melan-choly wailings of his violin, and knew that hewas still pondering over the strange problemwhich he had set himself to unravel.

CHAPTER VI.TOBIAS GREGSONSHOWS WHAT HECAN DO.

The papers next day were full of the “Brix-ton Mystery,” as they termed it. Each had along account of the affair, and some had lead-ers upon it in addition. There was some infor-mation in them which was new to me. I stillretain in my scrap-book numerous clippingsand extracts bearing upon the case. Here is acondensation of a few of them:—

The Daily Telegraph remarked that in thehistory of crime there had seldom been atragedy which presented stranger features.The German name of the victim, the absenceof all other motive, and the sinister inscrip-tion on the wall, all pointed to its perpe-tration by political refugees and revolution-ists. The Socialists had many branches inAmerica, and the deceased had, no doubt,

83


infringed their unwritten laws, and beentracked down by them. After alluding airily tothe Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, theMarchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwiniantheory, the principles of Malthus, and the Rat-cliff Highway murders, the article concludedby admonishing the Government and advocat-ing a closer watch over foreigners in England.

The Standard commented upon the factthat lawless outrages of the sort usually oc-curred under a Liberal Administration. Theyarose from the unsettling of the minds of themasses, and the consequent weakening of allauthority. The deceased was an Americangentleman who had been residing for someweeks in the Metropolis. He had stayed atthe boarding-house of Madame Charpentier,in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. He was ac-companied in his travels by his private sec-retary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two badeadieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4thinst., and departed to Euston Station withthe avowed intention of catching the Liver-pool express. They were afterwards seen to-gether upon the platform. Nothing more isknown of them until Mr. Drebber’s body was,as recorded, discovered in an empty house inthe Brixton Road, many miles from Euston.How he came there, or how he met his fate,are questions which are still involved in mys-tery. Nothing is known of the whereaboutsof Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr.

CHAPTER VI 85

Lestrade and Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard,are both engaged upon the case, and it is con-fidently anticipated that these well-known of-ficers will speedily throw light upon the mat-ter.

The Daily News observed that there wasno doubt as to the crime being a politicalone. The despotism and hatred of Liberal-ism which animated the Continental Govern-ments had had the effect of driving to ourshores a number of men who might have madeexcellent citizens were they not soured by therecollection of all that they had undergone.Among these men there was a stringent codeof honour, any infringement of which was pun-ished by death. Every effort should be madeto find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ascer-tain some particulars of the habits of the de-ceased. A great step had been gained by thediscovery of the address of the house at whichhe had boarded—a result which was entirelydue to the acuteness and energy of Mr. Greg-son of Scotland Yard.

Sherlock Holmes and I read these noticesover together at breakfast, and they appearedto afford him considerable amusement.

“I told you that, whatever happened,Lestrade and Gregson would be sure to score.”

“That depends on how it turns out.”“Oh, bless you, it doesn’t matter in the

least. If the man is caught, it will be on ac-count of their exertions; if he escapes, it will


be in spite of their exertions. It’s heads I winand tails you lose. Whatever they do, they willhave followers. ‘Un sot trouve toujours un plussot qui l’admire.”’

“What on earth is this?” I cried, for at thismoment there came the pattering of manysteps in the hall and on the stairs, accompa-nied by audible expressions of disgust uponthe part of our landlady.

“It’s the Baker Street division of the detec-tive police force,” said my companion, gravely;and as he spoke there rushed into the roomhalf a dozen of the dirtiest and most raggedstreet Arabs that ever I clapped eyes on.

“’Tention!” cried Holmes, in a sharp tone,and the six dirty little scoundrels stood in aline like so many disreputable statuettes. “Infuture you shall send up Wiggins alone to re-port, and the rest of you must wait in thestreet. Have you found it, Wiggins?”

“No, sir, we hain’t,” said one of the youths.“I hardly expected you would. You must

keep on until you do. Here are your wages.”He handed each of them a shilling. “Now, offyou go, and come back with a better reportnext time.”

He waved his hand, and they scamperedaway downstairs like so many rats, and weheard their shrill voices next moment in thestreet.

“There’s more work to be got out of oneof those little beggars than out of a dozen

CHAPTER VI 87

“HAVE YOU FOUND IT, WIGGINS?”


of the force,” Holmes remarked. “The meresight of an official-looking person seals men’slips. These youngsters, however, go every-where and hear everything. They are as sharpas needles, too; all they want is organisation.”

“Is it on this Brixton case that you are em-ploying them?” I asked.

“Yes; there is a point which I wish to as-certain. It is merely a matter of time. Hullo!we are going to hear some news now with avengeance! Here is Gregson coming down theroad with beatitude written upon every fea-ture of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, heis stopping. There he is!”

There was a violent peal at the bell, and ina few seconds the fair-haired detective cameup the stairs, three steps at a time, and burstinto our sitting-room.

“My dear fellow,” he cried, wringingHolmes’ unresponsive hand, “congratulateme! I have made the whole thing as clear asday.”

A shade of anxiety seemed to me to crossmy companion’s expressive face.

“Do you mean that you are on the righttrack?” he asked.

“The right track! Why, sir, we have theman under lock and key.”

“And his name is?”“Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant

in Her Majesty’s navy,” cried Gregson,pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflat-

CHAPTER VI 89

ing his chest.Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and

relaxed into a smile.“Take a seat, and try one of these cigars,”

he said. “We are anxious to know how youmanaged it. Will you have some whiskey andwater?”

“I don’t mind if I do,” the detective an-swered. “The tremendous exertions which Ihave gone through during the last day or twohave worn me out. Not so much bodily exer-tion, you understand, as the strain upon themind. You will appreciate that, Mr. SherlockHolmes, for we are both brain-workers.”

“You do me too much honour,” said Holmes,gravely. “Let us hear how you arrived at thismost gratifying result.”

The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacently at his cigar.Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in aparoxysm of amusement.

“The fun of it is,” he cried, “that that foolLestrade, who thinks himself so smart, hasgone off upon the wrong track altogether. Heis after the secretary Stangerson, who had nomore to do with the crime than the babe un-born. I have no doubt that he has caught himby this time.”

The idea tickled Gregson so much that helaughed until he choked.

“And how did you get your clue?”“Ah, I’ll tell you all about it. Of course, Doc-


tor Watson, this is strictly between ourselves.The first difficulty which we had to contendwith was the finding of this American’s an-tecedents. Some people would have waiteduntil their advertisements were answered, oruntil parties came forward and volunteeredinformation. That is not Tobias Gregson’s wayof going to work. You remember the hat besidethe dead man?”

“Yes,” said Holmes; “by John Underwoodand Sons, 129, Camberwell Road.”

Gregson looked quite crest-fallen.“I had no idea that you noticed that,” he

said. “Have you been there?”“No.”“Ha!” cried Gregson, in a relieved voice;

“you should never neglect a chance, howeversmall it may seem.”

“To a great mind, nothing is little,” re-marked Holmes, sententiously.

“Well, I went to Underwood, and askedhim if he had sold a hat of that size and de-scription. He looked over his books, and cameon it at once. He had sent the hat to a Mr.Drebber, residing at Charpentier’s BoardingEstablishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I gotat his address.”

“Smart—very smart!” murmured SherlockHolmes.

“I next called upon Madame Charpentier,”continued the detective. “I found her verypale and distressed. Her daughter was in the

CHAPTER VI 91

room, too—an uncommonly fine girl she is,too; she was looking red about the eyes andher lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn’tescape my notice. I began to smell a rat. Youknow the feeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, whenyou come upon the right scent—a kind of thrillin your nerves. ‘Have you heard of the myste-rious death of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J.Drebber, of Cleveland?’ I asked.

“The mother nodded. She didn’t seem ableto get out a word. The daughter burst intotears. I felt more than ever that these peopleknew something of the matter.

“‘At what o’clock did Mr. Drebber leaveyour house for the train?’ I asked.

“‘At eight o’clock,’ she said, gulping in herthroat to keep down her agitation. ‘His secre-tary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were twotrains—one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was tocatch the first.’

“‘And was that the last which you saw ofhim?’

“A terrible change came over the woman’sface as I asked the question. Her featuresturned perfectly livid. It was some seconds be-fore she could get out the single word ‘Yes’—and when it did come it was in a husky unnat-ural tone.

“There was silence for a moment, and thenthe daughter spoke in a calm clear voice.

“‘No good can ever come of falsehood,mother,’ she said. ‘Let us be frank with this


gentleman. We did see Mr. Drebber again.’“‘God forgive you!’ cried Madame Charpen-

tier, throwing up her hands and sinking backin her chair. ‘You have murdered your brother.’

“‘Arthur would rather that we spoke thetruth,’ the girl answered firmly.

“‘You had best tell me all about it now,’ Isaid. ‘Half-confidences are worse than none.Besides, you do not know how much we knowof it.’

“‘On your head be it, Alice!’ cried hermother; and then, turning to me, ‘I will tellyou all, sir. Do not imagine that my agita-tion on behalf of my son arises from any fearlest he should have had a hand in this terri-ble affair. He is utterly innocent of it. Mydread is, however, that in your eyes and in theeyes of others he may appear to be compro-mised. That however is surely impossible. Hishigh character, his profession, his antecedentswould all forbid it.’

“‘Your best way is to make a clean breast ofthe facts,’ I answered. ‘Depend upon it, if yourson is innocent he will be none the worse.’

“‘Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us to-gether,’ she said, and her daughter withdrew.‘Now, sir,’ she continued, ‘I had no intention oftelling you all this, but since my poor daugh-ter has disclosed it I have no alternative. Hav-ing once decided to speak, I will tell you allwithout omitting any particular.’

“‘It is your wisest course,’ said I.

CHAPTER VI 93

“‘Mr. Drebber has been with us nearlythree weeks. He and his secretary, Mr.Stangerson, had been travelling on the Con-tinent. I noticed a “Copenhagen” label uponeach of their trunks, showing that that hadbeen their last stopping place. Stangersonwas a quiet reserved man, but his employer,I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He wascoarse in his habits and brutish in his ways.The very night of his arrival he became verymuch the worse for drink, and, indeed, af-ter twelve o’clock in the day he could hardlyever be said to be sober. His manners towardsthe maid-servants were disgustingly free andfamiliar. Worst of all, he speedily assumedthe same attitude towards my daughter, Al-ice, and spoke to her more than once in a waywhich, fortunately, she is too innocent to un-derstand. On one occasion he actually seizedher in his arms and embraced her—an out-rage which caused his own secretary to re-proach him for his unmanly conduct.’

“‘But why did you stand all this,’ I asked. ‘Isuppose that you can get rid of your boarderswhen you wish.’

“Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinentquestion. ‘Would to God that I had given himnotice on the very day that he came,’ she said.‘But it was a sore temptation. They were pay-ing a pound a day each—fourteen pounds aweek, and this is the slack season. I am awidow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me


much. I grudged to lose the money. I actedfor the best. This last was too much, however,and I gave him notice to leave on account of it.That was the reason of his going.’

“‘Well?’“‘My heart grew light when I saw him drive

away. My son is on leave just now, but I did nottell him anything of all this, for his temper isviolent, and he is passionately fond of his sis-ter. When I closed the door behind them a loadseemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, inless than an hour there was a ring at the bell,and I learned that Mr. Drebber had returned.He was much excited, and evidently the worsefor drink. He forced his way into the room,where I was sitting with my daughter, andmade some incoherent remark about havingmissed his train. He then turned to Alice, andbefore my very face, proposed to her that sheshould fly with him. “You are of age,” he said,“and there is no law to stop you. I have moneyenough and to spare. Never mind the old girlhere, but come along with me now straightaway. You shall live like a princess.” Poor Al-ice was so frightened that she shrunk awayfrom him, but he caught her by the wrist andendeavoured to draw her towards the door. Iscreamed, and at that moment my son Arthurcame into the room. What happened then Ido not know. I heard oaths and the confusedsounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raisemy head. When I did look up I saw Arthur

CHAPTER VI 95

standing in the doorway laughing, with a stickin his hand. “I don’t think that fine fellow willtrouble us again,” he said. “I will just go afterhim and see what he does with himself.” Withthose words he took his hat and started offdown the street. The next morning we heardof Mr. Drebber’s mysterious death.’

“This statement came from Mrs. Charpen-tier’s lips with many gasps and pauses. Attimes she spoke so low that I could hardlycatch the words. I made shorthand notes of allthat she said, however, so that there should beno possibility of a mistake.”

“It’s quite exciting,” said Sherlock Holmes,with a yawn. “What happened next?”

“When Mrs. Charpentier paused,” the de-tective continued, “I saw that the whole casehung upon one point. Fixing her with my eyein a way which I always found effective withwomen, I asked her at what hour her son re-turned.

“‘I do not know,’ she answered.“‘Not know?’“‘No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself

in.’“‘After you went to bed?’“‘Yes.’“‘When did you go to bed?’“‘About eleven.’“‘So your son was gone at least two hours?’“‘Yes.’“‘Possibly four or five?’


“‘Yes.’“‘What was he doing during that time?’“‘I do not know,’ she answered, turning

white to her very lips.“Of course after that there was nothing

more to be done. I found out where LieutenantCharpentier was, took two officers with me,and arrested him. When I touched him onthe shoulder and warned him to come quietlywith us, he answered us as bold as brass, ‘Isuppose you are arresting me for being con-cerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber,’he said. We had said nothing to him about it,so that his alluding to it had a most suspiciousaspect.”

“Very,” said Holmes.“He still carried the heavy stick which the

mother described him as having with himwhen he followed Drebber. It was a stout oakcudgel.”

“What is your theory, then?”“Well, my theory is that he followed Dreb-

ber as far as the Brixton Road. When there,a fresh altercation arose between them, in thecourse of which Drebber received a blow fromthe stick, in the pit of the stomach, perhaps,which killed him without leaving any mark.The night was so wet that no one was about,so Charpentier dragged the body of his victiminto the empty house. As to the candle, andthe blood, and the writing on the wall, and thering, they may all be so many tricks to throw

CHAPTER VI 97

the police on to the wrong scent.”“Well done!” said Holmes in an encourag-

ing voice. “Really, Gregson, you are gettingalong. We shall make something of you yet.”

“I flatter myself that I have managedit rather neatly,” the detective answeredproudly. “The young man volunteered a state-ment, in which he said that after followingDrebber some time, the latter perceived him,and took a cab in order to get away from him.On his way home he met an old shipmate,and took a long walk with him. On beingasked where this old shipmate lived, he wasunable to give any satisfactory reply. I thinkthe whole case fits together uncommonly well.What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, whohad started off upon the wrong scent. I amafraid he won’t make much of it. Why, by Jove,here’s the very man himself!”

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascendedthe stairs while we were talking, and who nowentered the room. The assurance and jaunti-ness which generally marked his demeanourand dress were, however, wanting. His facewas disturbed and troubled, while his clotheswere disarranged and untidy. He had evi-dently come with the intention of consultingwith Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving hiscolleague he appeared to be embarrassed andput out. He stood in the centre of the room,fumbling nervously with his hat and uncer-tain what to do. “This is a most extraordinary


LESTRADE STOOD IN THE CENTRE OF THEROOM, FUMBLING NERVOUSLY WITH HIS

HAT AND UNCERTAIN WHAT TO DO.

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case,” he said at last—“a most incomprehensi-ble affair.”

“Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” criedGregson, triumphantly. “I thought you wouldcome to that conclusion. Have you managedto find the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?”

“The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,”said Lestrade gravely, “was murdered at Hal-liday’s Private Hotel about six o’clock thismorning.”

CHAPTER VII.LIGHT IN THEDARKNESS.

The intelligence with which Lestrade greetedus was so momentous and so unexpected, thatwe were all three fairly dumfoundered. Greg-son sprang out of his chair and upset the re-mainder of his whiskey and water. I stared insilence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips werecompressed and his brows drawn down overhis eyes.

“Stangerson too!” he muttered. “The plotthickens.”

“It was quite thick enough before,” grum-bled Lestrade, taking a chair. “I seem to havedropped into a sort of council of war.”

“Are you—are you sure of this piece of in-telligence?” stammered Gregson.

“I have just come from his room,” saidLestrade. “I was the first to discover what hadoccurred.”

“We have been hearing Gregson’s view of

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the matter,” Holmes observed. “Would youmind letting us know what you have seen anddone?”

“I have no objection,” Lestrade answered,seating himself. “I freely confess that I wasof the opinion that Stangerson was concernedin the death of Drebber. This fresh devel-opment has shown me that I was completelymistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myselfto find out what had become of the Secretary.They had been seen together at Euston Sta-tion about half-past eight on the evening ofthe third. At two in the morning Drebber hadbeen found in the Brixton Road. The ques-tion which confronted me was to find out howStangerson had been employed between 8.30and the time of the crime, and what had be-come of him afterwards. I telegraphed to Liv-erpool, giving a description of the man, andwarning them to keep a watch upon the Amer-ican boats. I then set to work calling upon allthe hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinityof Euston. You see, I argued that if Drebberand his companion had become separated, thenatural course for the latter would be to putup somewhere in the vicinity for the night,and then to hang about the station again nextmorning.”

“They would be likely to agree onsome meeting-place beforehand,” remarkedHolmes.

“So it proved. I spent the whole of yes-

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terday evening in making enquiries entirelywithout avail. This morning I began veryearly, and at eight o’clock I reached Halliday’sPrivate Hotel, in Little George Street. On myenquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson wasliving there, they at once answered me in theaffirmative.

“‘No doubt you are the gentleman whom hewas expecting,’ they said. ‘He has been wait-ing for a gentleman for two days.’

“‘Where is he now?’ I asked.“‘He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be

called at nine.’“‘I will go up and see him at once,’ I said.“It seemed to me that my sudden appear-

ance might shake his nerves and lead him tosay something unguarded. The Boots volun-teered to show me the room: it was on thesecond floor, and there was a small corridorleading up to it. The Boots pointed out thedoor to me, and was about to go downstairsagain when I saw something that made mefeel sickish, in spite of my twenty years’ ex-perience. From under the door there curleda little red ribbon of blood, which had mean-dered across the passage and formed a littlepool along the skirting at the other side. Igave a cry, which brought the Boots back. Henearly fainted when he saw it. The door waslocked on the inside, but we put our shoul-ders to it, and knocked it in. The window ofthe room was open, and beside the window,


all huddled up, lay the body of a man in hisnightdress. He was quite dead, and had beenfor some time, for his limbs were rigid andcold. When we turned him over, the Boots rec-ognized him at once as being the same gen-tleman who had engaged the room under thename of Joseph Stangerson. The cause ofdeath was a deep stab in the left side, whichmust have penetrated the heart. And nowcomes the strangest part of the affair. What doyou suppose was above the murdered man?”

I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presen-timent of coming horror, even before SherlockHolmes answered.

“The word RACHE, written in letters ofblood,” he said.

“That was it,” said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were all silent for a while.

There was something so methodical andso incomprehensible about the deeds of thisunknown assassin, that it imparted a freshghastliness to his crimes. My nerves, whichwere steady enough on the field of battle tin-gled as I thought of it.

“The man was seen,” continued Lestrade.“A milk boy, passing on his way to the dairy,happened to walk down the lane which leadsfrom the mews at the back of the hotel. Henoticed that a ladder, which usually lay there,was raised against one of the windows of thesecond floor, which was wide open. After pass-ing, he looked back and saw a man descend

CHAPTER VII 105

the ladder. He came down so quietly andopenly that the boy imagined him to be somecarpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. Hetook no particular notice of him, beyond think-ing in his own mind that it was early for himto be at work. He has an impression that theman was tall, had a reddish face, and wasdressed in a long, brownish coat. He musthave stayed in the room some little time afterthe murder, for we found blood-stained waterin the basin, where he had washed his hands,and marks on the sheets where he had delib-erately wiped his knife.”

I glanced at Holmes on hearing the de-scription of the murderer, which tallied so ex-actly with his own. There was, however, notrace of exultation or satisfaction upon hisface.

“Did you find nothing in the room whichcould furnish a clue to the murderer?” heasked.

“Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber’s pursein his pocket, but it seems that this was usual,as he did all the paying. There was eightyodd pounds in it, but nothing had been taken.Whatever the motives of these extraordinarycrimes, robbery is certainly not one of them.There were no papers or memoranda in themurdered man’s pocket, except a single tele-gram, dated from Cleveland about a monthago, and containing the words, ‘J. H. is in Eu-rope.’ There was no name appended to this


message.”“And there was nothing else?” Holmes

asked.“Nothing of any importance. The man’s

novel, with which he had read himself to sleepwas lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on achair beside him. There was a glass of wateron the table, and on the window-sill a smallchip ointment box containing a couple of pills.”

Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chairwith an exclamation of delight.

“The last link,” he cried, exultantly. “Mycase is complete.”

The two detectives stared at him in amaze-ment.

“I have now in my hands,” my companionsaid, confidently, “all the threads which haveformed such a tangle. There are, of course,details to be filled in, but I am as certain ofall the main facts, from the time that Drebberparted from Stangerson at the station, up tothe discovery of the body of the latter, as if Ihad seen them with my own eyes. I will giveyou a proof of my knowledge. Could you layyour hand upon those pills?”

“I have them,” said Lestrade, producing asmall white box; “I took them and the purseand the telegram, intending to have them putin a place of safety at the Police Station. Itwas the merest chance my taking these pills,for I am bound to say that I do not attach anyimportance to them.”

CHAPTER VII 107

“Give them here,” said Holmes. “Now, Doc-tor,” turning to me, “are those ordinary pills?”

They certainly were not. They were of apearly grey colour, small, round, and almosttransparent against the light. “From theirlightness and transparency, I should imaginethat they are soluble in water,” I remarked.

“Precisely so,” answered Holmes. “Nowwould you mind going down and fetching thatpoor little devil of a terrier which has been badso long, and which the landlady wanted you toput out of its pain yesterday.”

I went downstairs and carried the dog up-stair in my arms. It’s laboured breathingand glazing eye showed that it was not farfrom its end. Indeed, its snow-white muzzleproclaimed that it had already exceeded theusual term of canine existence. I placed itupon a cushion on the rug.

“I will now cut one of these pills in two,”said Holmes, and drawing his penknife hesuited the action to the word. “One half wereturn into the box for future purposes. Theother half I will place in this wine glass, inwhich is a teaspoonful of water. You perceivethat our friend, the Doctor, is right, and thatit readily dissolves.”

“This may be very interesting,” saidLestrade, in the injured tone of one who sus-pects that he is being laughed at, “I cannotsee, however, what it has to do with the deathof Mr. Joseph Stangerson.”


“Patience, my friend, patience! You willfind in time that it has everything to do withit. I shall now add a little milk to make themixture palatable, and on presenting it to thedog we find that he laps it up readily enough.”

As he spoke he turned the contents of thewine glass into a saucer and placed it in frontof the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. Sher-lock Holmes’ earnest demeanour had so farconvinced us that we all sat in silence, watch-ing the animal intently, and expecting somestartling effect. None such appeared, how-ever. The dog continued to lie stretched uponthe cushion, breathing in a laboured way, butapparently neither the better nor the worsefor its draught.

Holmes had taken out his watch, and asminute followed minute without result, anexpression of the utmost chagrin and disap-pointment appeared upon his features. Hegnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon thetable, and showed every other symptom ofacute impatience. So great was his emotion,that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while thetwo detectives smiled derisively, by no meansdispleased at this check which he had met.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” he cried, at lastspringing from his chair and pacing wildly upand down the room; “it is impossible that itshould be a mere coincidence. The very pillswhich I suspected in the case of Drebber areactually found after the death of Stangerson.

CHAPTER VII 109

THE DOG CONTINUED TO LIE STRETCHEDUPON THE CUSHION.


And yet they are inert. What can it mean?Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannothave been false. It is impossible! And yet thiswretched dog is none the worse. Ah, I haveit! I have it!” With a perfect shriek of de-light he rushed to the box, cut the other pill intwo, dissolved it, added milk, and presentedit to the terrier. The unfortunate creature’stongue seemed hardly to have been moistenedin it before it gave a convulsive shiver in everylimb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it hadbeen struck by lightning.

Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, andwiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Ishould have more faith,” he said; “I ought toknow by this time that when a fact appears tobe opposed to a long train of deductions, it in-variably proves to be capable of bearing someother interpretation. Of the two pills in thatbox one was of the most deadly poison, and theother was entirely harmless. I ought to haveknown that before ever I saw the box at all.”

This last statement appeared to me to beso startling, that I could hardly believe that hewas in his sober senses. There was the deaddog, however, to prove that his conjecture hadbeen correct. It seemed to me that the mistsin my own mind were gradually clearing away,and I began to have a dim, vague perceptionof the truth.

“All this seems strange to you,” continuedHolmes, “because you failed at the beginning

CHAPTER VII 111

of the inquiry to grasp the importance of thesingle real clue which was presented to you.I had the good fortune to seize upon that,and everything which has occurred since thenhas served to confirm my original supposition,and, indeed, was the logical sequence of it.Hence things which have perplexed you andmade the case more obscure, have served toenlighten me and to strengthen my conclu-sions. It is a mistake to confound strangenesswith mystery. The most commonplace crime isoften the most mysterious because it presentsno new or special features from which deduc-tions may be drawn. This murder would havebeen infinitely more difficult to unravel hadthe body of the victim been simply found lyingin the roadway without any of those outré andsensational accompaniments which have ren-dered it remarkable. These strange details,far from making the case more difficult, havereally had the effect of making it less so.”

Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this ad-dress with considerable impatience, could con-tain himself no longer. “Look here, Mr. Sher-lock Holmes,” he said, “we are all ready to ac-knowledge that you are a smart man, and thatyou have your own methods of working. Wewant something more than mere theory andpreaching now, though. It is a case of tak-ing the man. I have made my case out, and itseems I was wrong. Young Charpentier couldnot have been engaged in this second affair.


Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, andit appears that he was wrong too. You havethrown out hints here, and hints there, andseem to know more than we do, but the timehas come when we feel that we have a right toask you straight how much you do know of thebusiness. Can you name the man who did it?”

“I cannot help feeling that Gregson isright, sir,” remarked Lestrade. “We have bothtried, and we have both failed. You have re-marked more than once since I have been inthe room that you had all the evidence whichyou require. Surely you will not withhold itany longer.”

“Any delay in arresting the assassin,” I ob-served, “might give him time to perpetratesome fresh atrocity.”

Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showedsigns of irresolution. He continued to walk upand down the room with his head sunk on hischest and his brows drawn down, as was hishabit when lost in thought.

“There will be no more murders,” he saidat last, stopping abruptly and facing us. “Youcan put that consideration out of the ques-tion. You have asked me if I know the nameof the assassin. I do. The mere knowing ofhis name is a small thing, however, comparedwith the power of laying our hands upon him.This I expect very shortly to do. I have goodhopes of managing it through my own ar-rangements; but it is a thing which needs del-

CHAPTER VII 113

icate handling, for we have a shrewd and des-perate man to deal with, who is supported,as I have had occasion to prove, by anotherwho is as clever as himself. As long as thisman has no idea that anyone can have a cluethere is some chance of securing him; but if hehad the slightest suspicion, he would changehis name, and vanish in an instant amongthe four million inhabitants of this great city.Without meaning to hurt either of your feel-ings, I am bound to say that I consider thesemen to be more than a match for the officialforce, and that is why I have not asked yourassistance. If I fail I shall, of course, incurall the blame due to this omission; but thatI am prepared for. At present I am ready topromise that the instant that I can commu-nicate with you without endangering my owncombinations, I shall do so.”

Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be farfrom satisfied by this assurance, or by the de-preciating allusion to the detective police. Theformer had flushed up to the roots of his flaxenhair, while the other’s beady eyes glistenedwith curiosity and resentment. Neither ofthem had time to speak, however, before therewas a tap at the door, and the spokesman ofthe street Arabs, young Wiggins, introducedhis insignificant and unsavoury person.

“Please, sir,” he said, touching his forelock,“I have the cab downstairs.”

“Good boy,” said Holmes, blandly. “Why


don’t you introduce this pattern at ScotlandYard?” he continued, taking a pair of steelhandcuffs from a drawer. “See how beautifullythe spring works. They fasten in an instant.”

“The old pattern is good enough,” re-marked Lestrade, “if we can only find the manto put them on.”

“Very good, very good,” said Holmes, smil-ing. “The cabman may as well help me withmy boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins.”

I was surprised to find my companionspeaking as though he were about to set outon a journey, since he had not said anythingto me about it. There was a small portman-teau in the room, and this he pulled out andbegan to strap. He was busily engaged at itwhen the cabman entered the room.

“Just give me a help with this buckle, cab-man,” he said, kneeling over his task, andnever turning his head.

The fellow came forward with a somewhatsullen, defiant air, and put down his hands toassist. At that instant there was a sharp click,the jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmessprang to his feet again.

“Gentlemen,” he cried, with flashing eyes,“let me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope,the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of JosephStangerson.”

The whole thing occurred in a moment—so quickly that I had no time to realize it.I have a vivid recollection of that instant,

CHAPTER VII 115

of Holmes’ triumphant expression and thering of his voice, of the cabman’s dazed, sav-age face, as he glared at the glittering hand-cuffs, which had appeared as if by magicupon his wrists. For a second or two wemight have been a group of statues. Then,with an inarticulate roar of fury, the pris-oner wrenched himself free from Holmes’sgrasp, and hurled himself through the win-dow. Woodwork and glass gave way beforehim; but before he got quite through, Gregson,Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like somany staghounds. He was dragged back intothe room, and then commenced a terrific con-flict. So powerful and so fierce was he, that thefour of us were shaken off again and again. Heappeared to have the convulsive strength of aman in an epileptic fit. His face and handswere terribly mangled by his passage throughthe glass, but loss of blood had no effect indiminishing his resistance. It was not untilLestrade succeeded in getting his hand insidehis neckcloth and half-strangling him that wemade him realize that his struggles were of noavail; and even then we felt no security untilwe had pinioned his feet as well as his hands.That done, we rose to our feet breathless andpanting.

“We have his cab,” said Sherlock Holmes.“It will serve to take him to Scotland Yard.And now, gentlemen,” he continued, with apleasant smile, “we have reached the end of


SO POWERFUL AND SO FIERCE WAS HE,THAT THE FOUR OF US WERE SHAKEN OFF

AGAIN AND AGAIN.

CHAPTER VII 117

our little mystery. You are very welcome toput any questions that you like to me now, andthere is no danger that I will refuse to answerthem.”

PART II.The Country of the Saints.

119

CHAPTER I. ONTHE GREATALKALI PLAIN.

In the central portion of the great NorthAmerican Continent there lies an arid and re-pulsive desert, which for many a long yearserved as a barrier against the advance ofcivilisation. From the Sierra Nevada to Ne-braska, and from the Yellowstone River inthe north to the Colorado upon the south, isa region of desolation and silence. Nor isNature always in one mood throughout thisgrim district. It comprises snow-capped andlofty mountains, and dark and gloomy val-leys. There are swift-flowing rivers whichdash through jagged cañons; and there areenormous plains, which in winter are whitewith snow, and in summer are grey with thesaline alkali dust. They all preserve, however,the common characteristics of barrenness, in-hospitality, and misery.

There are no inhabitants of this land of

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despair. A band of Pawnees or of Blackfeetmay occasionally traverse it in order to reachother hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of thebraves are glad to lose sight of those awe-some plains, and to find themselves once moreupon their prairies. The coyote skulks amongthe scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily throughthe air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbersthrough the dark ravines, and picks up suchsustenance as it can amongst the rocks. Theseare the sole dwellers in the wilderness.

In the whole world there can be no moredreary view than that from the northern slopeof the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye canreach stretches the great flat plain-land, alldusted over with patches of alkali, and inter-sected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparralbushes. On the extreme verge of the hori-zon lie a long chain of mountain peaks, withtheir rugged summits flecked with snow. Inthis great stretch of country there is no signof life, nor of anything appertaining to life.There is no bird in the steel-blue heaven, nomovement upon the dull, grey earth—aboveall, there is absolute silence. Listen as onemay, there is no shadow of a sound in allthat mighty wilderness; nothing but silence—complete and heart-subduing silence.

It has been said there is nothing apper-taining to life upon the broad plain. That ishardly true. Looking down from the SierraBlanco, one sees a pathway traced out across

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the desert, which winds away and is lost inthe extreme distance. It is rutted with wheelsand trodden down by the feet of many ad-venturers. Here and there there are scat-tered white objects which glisten in the sun,and stand out against the dull deposit of al-kali. Approach, and examine them! They arebones: some large and coarse, others smallerand more delicate. The former have belongedto oxen, and the latter to men. For fifteen hun-dred miles one may trace this ghastly caravanroute by these scattered remains of those whohad fallen by the wayside.

Looking down on this very scene, therestood upon the fourth of May, eighteen hun-dred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. Hisappearance was such that he might have beenthe very genius or demon of the region. Anobserver would have found it difficult to saywhether he was nearer to forty or to sixty. Hisface was lean and haggard, and the brownparchment-like skin was drawn tightly overthe projecting bones; his long, brown hairand beard were all flecked and dashed withwhite; his eyes were sunken in his head, andburned with an unnatural lustre; while thehand which grasped his rifle was hardly morefleshy than that of a skeleton. As he stood, heleaned upon his weapon for support, and yethis tall figure and the massive framework ofhis bones suggested a wiry and vigorous con-stitution. His gaunt face, however, and his


clothes, which hung so baggily over his shriv-elled limbs, proclaimed what it was that gavehim that senile and decrepit appearance. Theman was dying—dying from hunger and fromthirst.

He had toiled painfully down the ravine,and on to this little elevation, in the vain hopeof seeing some signs of water. Now the greatsalt plain stretched before his eyes, and thedistant belt of savage mountains, without asign anywhere of plant or tree, which mightindicate the presence of moisture. In all thatbroad landscape there was no gleam of hope.North, and east, and west he looked with wildquestioning eyes, and then he realised thathis wanderings had come to an end, and thatthere, on that barren crag, he was about todie. “Why not here, as well as in a featherbed, twenty years hence,” he muttered, as heseated himself in the shelter of a boulder.

Before sitting down, he had deposited uponthe ground his useless rifle, and also a largebundle tied up in a grey shawl, which hehad carried slung over his right shoulder. Itappeared to be somewhat too heavy for hisstrength, for in lowering it, it came downon the ground with some little violence. In-stantly there broke from the grey parcel a lit-tle moaning cry, and from it there protrudeda small, scared face, with very bright browneyes, and two little speckled, dimpled fists.

“You’ve hurt me!” said a childish voice re-

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proachfully.“Have I though,” the man answered peni-

tently, “I didn’t go for to do it.” As he spokehe unwrapped the grey shawl and extricateda pretty little girl of about five years of age,whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock withits little linen apron all bespoke a mother’scare. The child was pale and wan, but herhealthy arms and legs showed that she hadsuffered less than her companion.

“How is it now?” he answered anxiously,for she was still rubbing the towsy goldencurls which covered the back of her head.

“Kiss it and make it well,” she said, withperfect gravity, shoving the injured part up tohim. “That’s what mother used to do. Where’smother?”

“Mother’s gone. I guess you’ll see her be-fore long.”

“Gone, eh!” said the little girl. “Funny, shedidn’t say good-bye; she ’most always did ifshe was just goin’ over to Auntie’s for tea, andnow she’s been away three days. Say, it’s aw-ful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there no water, nor noth-ing to eat?”

“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You’ll justneed to be patient awhile, and then you’ll beall right. Put your head up agin me like that,and then you’ll feel bullier. It ain’t easy to talkwhen your lips is like leather, but I guess I’dbest let you know how the cards lie. What’sthat you’ve got?”


“Pretty things! fine things!” cried the littlegirl enthusiastically, holding up two glitteringfragments of mica. “When we goes back tohome I’ll give them to brother Bob.”

“You’ll see prettier things than them soon,”said the man confidently. “You just wait a bit.I was going to tell you though—you rememberwhen we left the river?”

“Oh, yes.”“Well, we reckoned we’d strike another

river soon, d’ye see. But there was somethin’wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin’, andit didn’t turn up. Water ran out. Just except alittle drop for the likes of you and—and—”

“And you couldn’t wash yourself,” inter-rupted his companion gravely, staring up athis grimy visage.

“No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he wasthe fust to go, and then Indian Pete, and thenMrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, andthen, dearie, your mother.”

“Then mother’s a deader too,” cried the lit-tle girl dropping her face in her pinafore andsobbing bitterly.

“Yes, they all went except you and me.Then I thought there was some chance of wa-ter in this direction, so I heaved you overmy shoulder and we tramped it together. Itdon’t seem as though we’ve improved matters.There’s an almighty small chance for us now!”

“Do you mean that we are going to die too?”asked the child, checking her sobs, and raising

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her tear-stained face.“I guess that’s about the size of it.”“Why didn’t you say so before?” she said,

laughing gleefully. “You gave me such a fright.Why, of course, now as long as we die we’ll bewith mother again.”

“Yes, you will, dearie.”“And you too. I’ll tell her how awful good

you’ve been. I’ll bet she meets us at the doorof Heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lotof buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on bothsides, like Bob and me was fond of. How longwill it be first?”

“I don’t know—not very long.” The man’seyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. Inthe blue vault of the heaven there had ap-peared three little specks which increased insize every moment, so rapidly did they ap-proach. They speedily resolved themselvesinto three large brown birds, which circledover the heads of the two wanderers, and thensettled upon some rocks which overlookedthem. They were buzzards, the vultures of thewest, whose coming is the forerunner of death.

“Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl glee-fully, pointing at their ill-omened forms, andclapping her hands to make them rise. “Say,did God make this country?”

“In course He did,” said her companion,rather startled by this unexpected question.

“He made the country down in Illinois, andHe made the Missouri,” the little girl contin-


ued. “I guess somebody else made the countryin these parts. It’s not nearly so well done.They forgot the water and the trees.”

“What would ye think of offering upprayer?” the man asked diffidently.

“It ain’t night yet,” she answered.“It don’t matter. It ain’t quite regular, but

He won’t mind that, you bet. You say overthem ones that you used to say every nightin the waggon when we was on the Plains.”

“Why don’t you say some yourself?” thechild asked, with wondering eyes.

“I disremember them,” he answered. “Ihain’t said none since I was half the heighto’ that gun. I guess it’s never too late. You saythem out, and I’ll stand by and come in on thechoruses.”

“Then you’ll need to kneel down, and metoo,” she said, laying the shawl out for thatpurpose. “You’ve got to put your hands up likethis. It makes you feel kind o’ good.”

It was a strange sight had there been any-thing but the buzzards to see it. Side by sideon the narrow shawl knelt the two wander-ers, the little prattling child and the reck-less, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face,and his haggard, angular visage were bothturned up to the cloudless heaven in heart-felt entreaty to that dread being with whomthey were face to face, while the two voices—the one thin and clear, the other deep andharsh—united in the entreaty for mercy and

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“YOU’VE GOT TO PUT YOUR HANDS UP LIKETHIS. IT MAKES YOU FEEL KIND O’ GOOD.”


forgiveness. The prayer finished, they re-sumed their seat in the shadow of the boul-der until the child fell asleep, nestling uponthe broad breast of her protector. He watchedover her slumber for some time, but Natureproved to be too strong for him. For threedays and three nights he had allowed him-self neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eye-lids drooped over the tired eyes, and the headsunk lower and lower upon the breast, untilthe man’s grizzled beard was mixed with thegold tresses of his companion, and both sleptthe same deep and dreamless slumber.

Had the wanderer remained awake for an-other half hour a strange sight would havemet his eyes. Far away on the extreme vergeof the alkali plain there rose up a little sprayof dust, very slight at first, and hardly to bedistinguished from the mists of the distance,but gradually growing higher and broader un-til it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. Thiscloud continued to increase in size until it be-came evident that it could only be raised by agreat multitude of moving creatures. In morefertile spots the observer would have come tothe conclusion that one of those great herds ofbisons which graze upon the prairie land wasapproaching him. This was obviously impos-sible in these arid wilds. As the whirl of dustdrew nearer to the solitary bluff upon whichthe two castaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of waggons and the figures of

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armed horsemen began to show up throughthe haze, and the apparition revealed itself asbeing a great caravan upon its journey for theWest. But what a caravan! When the headof it had reached the base of the mountains,the rear was not yet visible on the horizon.Right across the enormous plain stretched thestraggling array, waggons and carts, men onhorseback, and men on foot. Innumerablewomen who staggered along under burdens,and children who toddled beside the waggonsor peeped out from under the white cover-ings. This was evidently no ordinary partyof immigrants, but rather some nomad peo-ple who had been compelled from stress of cir-cumstances to seek themselves a new country.There rose through the clear air a confusedclattering and rumbling from this great massof humanity, with the creaking of wheels andthe neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it wasnot sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarersabove them.

At the head of the column there rode ascore or more of grave ironfaced men, clad insombre homespun garments and armed withrifles. On reaching the base of the bluff theyhalted, and held a short council among them-selves.

“The wells are to the right, my brothers,”said one, a hard-lipped, clean-shaven manwith grizzly hair.

“To the right of the Sierra Blanco—so we


shall reach the Rio Grande,” said another.“Fear not for water,” cried a third. “He

who could draw it from the rocks will not nowabandon His own chosen people.”

“Amen! Amen!” responded the whole party.They were about to resume their journey

when one of the youngest and keenest-eyeduttered an exclamation and pointed up at therugged crag above them. From its summitthere fluttered a little wisp of pink, showingup hard and bright against the grey rocks be-hind. At the sight there was a general rein-ing up of horses and unslinging of guns, whilefresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforcethe vanguard. The word ‘Redskins’ was on ev-ery lip.

“There can’t be any number of Injunshere,” said the elderly man who appearedto be in command. “We have passed thePawnees, and there are no other tribes untilwe cross the great mountains.”

“Shall I go forward and see, BrotherStangerson,” asked one of the band.

“And I,” “and I,” cried a dozen voices.“Leave your horses below and we will

await you here,” the Elder answered. In a mo-ment the young fellows had dismounted, fas-tened their horses, and were ascending theprecipitous slope which led up to the objectwhich had excited their curiosity. They ad-vanced rapidly and noiselessly, with the con-fidence and dexterity of practised scouts. The

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watchers from the plain below could see themflit from rock to rock until their figures stoodout against the skyline. The young man whohad first given the alarm was leading them.Suddenly his followers saw him throw up hishands, as though overcome with astonish-ment, and on joining him they were affectedin the same way by the sight which met theireyes.

On the little plateau which crowned thebarren hill there stood a single giant boul-der, and against this boulder there lay a tallman, long-bearded and hard-featured, but ofan excessive thinness. His placid face andregular breathing showed that he was fastasleep. Beside him lay a little child, withher round white arms encircling his brownsinewy neck, and her golden haired head rest-ing upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Herrosy lips were parted, showing the regularline of snow-white teeth within, and a playfulsmile played over her infantile features. Herplump little white legs terminating in whitesocks and neat shoes with shining buckles,offered a strange contrast to the long shriv-elled members of her companion. On the ledgeof rock above this strange couple there stoodthree solemn buzzards, who, at the sight ofthe new comers uttered raucous screams ofdisappointment and flapped sullenly away.

The cries of the foul birds awoke the twosleepers who stared about them in bewilder-


ment. The man staggered to his feet andlooked down upon the plain which had been sodesolate when sleep had overtaken him, andwhich was now traversed by this enormousbody of men and of beasts. His face assumedan expression of incredulity as he gazed, andhe passed his boney hand over his eyes. “Thisis what they call delirium, I guess,” he mut-tered. The child stood beside him, holding onto the skirt of his coat, and said nothing butlooked all round her with the wondering ques-tioning gaze of childhood.

The rescuing party were speedily able toconvince the two castaways that their appear-ance was no delusion. One of them seized thelittle girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder,while two others supported her gaunt com-panion, and assisted him towards the wag-gons.

“My name is John Ferrier,” the wandererexplained; “me and that little un are all that’sleft o’ twenty-one people. The rest is all deado’ thirst and hunger away down in the south.”

“Is she your child?” asked someone.“I guess she is now,” the other cried, defi-

antly; “she’s mine ’cause I saved her. No manwill take her from me. She’s Lucy Ferrier fromthis day on. Who are you, though?” he contin-ued, glancing with curiosity at his stalwart,sunburned rescuers; “there seems to be a pow-erful lot of ye.”

“Nigh upon ten thousand,” said one of the

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ONE OF THEM SEIZED THE LITTLE GIRL,AND HOISTED HER UPON HIS SHOULDER.


young men; “we are the persecuted children ofGod—the chosen of the Angel Merona.”

“I never heard tell on him,” said the wan-derer. “He appears to have chosen a fair crowdof ye.”

“Do not jest at that which is sacred,” saidthe other sternly. “We are of those who be-lieve in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyp-tian letters on plates of beaten gold, whichwere handed unto the holy Joseph Smith atPalmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in theState of Illinois, where we had founded ourtemple. We have come to seek a refuge fromthe violent man and from the godless, eventhough it be the heart of the desert.”

The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled rec-ollections to John Ferrier. “I see,” he said, “youare the Mormons.”

“We are the Mormons,” answered his com-panions with one voice.

“And where are you going?”“We do not know. The hand of God is lead-

ing us under the person of our Prophet. Youmust come before him. He shall say what is tobe done with you.”

They had reached the base of the hillby this time, and were surrounded bycrowds of the pilgrims—pale-faced meek-looking women, strong laughing children, andanxious earnest-eyed men. Many were thecries of astonishment and of commiserationwhich arose from them when they perceived

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the youth of one of the strangers and the des-titution of the other. Their escort did nothalt, however, but pushed on, followed by agreat crowd of Mormons, until they reached awaggon, which was conspicuous for its greatsize and for the gaudiness and smartness ofits appearance. Six horses were yoked to it,whereas the others were furnished with two,or, at most, four apiece. Beside the driverthere sat a man who could not have been morethan thirty years of age, but whose massivehead and resolute expression marked him asa leader. He was reading a brown-backed vol-ume, but as the crowd approached he laid itaside, and listened attentively to an accountof the episode. Then he turned to the two cast-aways.

“If we take you with us,” he said, in solemnwords, “it can only be as believers in our owncreed. We shall have no wolves in our fold.Better far that your bones should bleach inthis wilderness than that you should prove tobe that little speck of decay which in time cor-rupts the whole fruit. Will you come with uson these terms?”

“Guess I’ll come with you on any terms,”said Ferrier, with such emphasis that thegrave Elders could not restrain a smile. Theleader alone retained his stern, impressive ex-pression.

“Take him, Brother Stangerson,” he said,“give him food and drink, and the child like-


wise. Let it be your task also to teach himour holy creed. We have delayed long enough.Forward! On, on to Zion!”

“On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of Mor-mons, and the words rippled down the longcaravan, passing from mouth to mouth un-til they died away in a dull murmur in thefar distance. With a cracking of whips anda creaking of wheels the great waggons gotinto motion, and soon the whole caravan waswinding along once more. The Elder to whosecare the two waifs had been committed, ledthem to his waggon, where a meal was alreadyawaiting them.

“You shall remain here,” he said. “In afew days you will have recovered from your fa-tigues. In the meantime, remember that nowand for ever you are of our religion. BrighamYoung has said it, and he has spoken with thevoice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice ofGod.”

CHAPTER II. THEFLOWER OFUTAH.

This is not the place to commemorate thetrials and privations endured by the immi-grant Mormons before they came to their fi-nal haven. From the shores of the Missis-sippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Moun-tains they had struggled on with a constancyalmost unparalleled in history. The savageman, and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fa-tigue, and disease—every impediment whichNature could place in the way, had all beenovercome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet thelong journey and the accumulated terrors hadshaken the hearts of the stoutest among them.There was not one who did not sink upon hisknees in heartfelt prayer when they saw thebroad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlightbeneath them, and learned from the lips oftheir leader that this was the promised land,and that these virgin acres were to be theirs

139


for evermore.Young speedily proved himself to be a skil-

ful administrator as well as a resolute chief.Maps were drawn and charts prepared, inwhich the future city was sketched out. Allaround farms were apportioned and allottedin proportion to the standing of each individ-ual. The tradesman was put to his trade andthe artisan to his calling. In the town streetsand squares sprang up, as if by magic. Inthe country there was draining and hedging,planting and clearing, until the next summersaw the whole country golden with the wheatcrop. Everything prospered in the strange set-tlement. Above all, the great temple whichthey had erected in the centre of the city grewever taller and larger. From the first blushof dawn until the closing of the twilight, theclatter of the hammer and the rasp of the sawwas never absent from the monument whichthe immigrants erected to Him who had ledthem safe through many dangers.

The two castaways, John Ferrier and thelittle girl who had shared his fortunes andhad been adopted as his daughter, accompa-nied the Mormons to the end of their great pil-grimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was borne alongpleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson’s wag-gon, a retreat which she shared with the Mor-mon’s three wives and with his son, a head-strong forward boy of twelve. Having ral-lied, with the elasticity of childhood, from the

CHAPTER II 141

shock caused by her mother’s death, she soonbecame a pet with the women, and recon-ciled herself to this new life in her movingcanvas-covered home. In the meantime Fer-rier having recovered from his privations, dis-tinguished himself as a useful guide and anindefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gainthe esteem of his new companions, that whenthey reached the end of their wanderings, itwas unanimously agreed that he should beprovided with as large and as fertile a tractof land as any of the settlers, with the ex-ception of Young himself, and of Stangerson,Kemball, Johnston, and Drebber, who werethe four principal Elders.

On the farm thus acquired John Ferrierbuilt himself a substantial log-house, whichreceived so many additions in succeedingyears that it grew into a roomy villa. He wasa man of a practical turn of mind, keen inhis dealings and skilful with his hands. Hisiron constitution enabled him to work morn-ing and evening at improving and tilling hislands. Hence it came about that his farm andall that belonged to him prospered exceed-ingly. In three years he was better off than hisneighbours, in six he was well-to-do, in ninehe was rich, and in twelve there were not halfa dozen men in the whole of Salt Lake Citywho could compare with him. From the greatinland sea to the distant Wahsatch Mountainsthere was no name better known than that of


John Ferrier.There was one way and only one in which

he offended the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion couldever induce him to set up a female establish-ment after the manner of his companions. Henever gave reasons for this persistent refusal,but contented himself by resolutely and in-flexibly adhering to his determination. Therewere some who accused him of lukewarm-ness in his adopted religion, and others whoput it down to greed of wealth and reluc-tance to incur expense. Others, again, spokeof some early love affair, and of a fair-hairedgirl who had pined away on the shores of theAtlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier re-mained strictly celibate. In every other re-spect he conformed to the religion of the youngsettlement, and gained the name of being anorthodox and straight-walking man.

Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house,and assisted her adopted father in all his un-dertakings. The keen air of the mountainsand the balsamic odour of the pine trees tookthe place of nurse and mother to the younggirl. As year succeeded to year she grew tallerand stronger, her cheek more rudy, and herstep more elastic. Many a wayfarer uponthe high road which ran by Ferrier’s farmfelt long-forgotten thoughts revive in theirmind as they watched her lithe girlish fig-ure tripping through the wheatfields, or met

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her mounted upon her father’s mustang, andmanaging it with all the ease and grace of atrue child of the West. So the bud blossomedinto a flower, and the year which saw her fa-ther the richest of the farmers left her as faira specimen of American girlhood as could befound in the whole Pacific slope.

It was not the father, however, who firstdiscovered that the child had developed intothe woman. It seldom is in such cases. Thatmysterious change is too subtle and too grad-ual to be measured by dates. Least of all doesthe maiden herself know it until the tone ofa voice or the touch of a hand sets her heartthrilling within her, and she learns, with amixture of pride and of fear, that a new and alarger nature has awoken within her. Thereare few who cannot recall that day and re-member the one little incident which heraldedthe dawn of a new life. In the case of Lucy Fer-rier the occasion was serious enough in itself,apart from its future influence on her destinyand that of many besides.

It was a warm June morning, and the Lat-ter Day Saints were as busy as the bees whosehive they have chosen for their emblem. Inthe fields and in the streets rose the samehum of human industry. Down the dustyhigh roads defiled long streams of heavily-laden mules, all heading to the west, for thegold fever had broken out in California, andthe Overland Route lay through the City of


the Elect. There, too, were droves of sheepand bullocks coming in from the outlying pas-ture lands, and trains of tired immigrants,men and horses equally weary of their inter-minable journey. Through all this motley as-semblage, threading her way with the skillof an accomplished rider, there galloped LucyFerrier, her fair face flushed with the exerciseand her long chestnut hair floating out behindher. She had a commission from her fatherin the City, and was dashing in as she haddone many a time before, with all the fear-lessness of youth, thinking only of her taskand how it was to be performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in aston-ishment, and even the unemotional Indians,journeying in with their pelties, relaxed theiraccustomed stoicism as they marvelled at thebeauty of the pale-faced maiden.

She had reached the outskirts of the citywhen she found the road blocked by a greatdrove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her im-patience she endeavoured to pass this obsta-cle by pushing her horse into what appearedto be a gap. Scarcely had she got fairly intoit, however, before the beasts closed in behindher, and she found herself completely imbed-ded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was todeal with cattle, she was not alarmed at hersituation, but took advantage of every oppor-

CHAPTER II 145

tunity to urge her horse on in the hopes ofpushing her way through the cavalcade. Un-fortunately the horns of one of the creatures,either by accident or design, came in violentcontact with the flank of the mustang, and ex-cited it to madness. In an instant it reared upupon its hind legs with a snort of rage, andpranced and tossed in a way that would haveunseated any but a most skilful rider. Thesituation was full of peril. Every plunge ofthe excited horse brought it against the hornsagain, and goaded it to fresh madness. It wasall that the girl could do to keep herself in thesaddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible deathunder the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrifiedanimals. Unaccustomed to sudden emergen-cies, her head began to swim, and her gripupon the bridle to relax. Choked by the risingcloud of dust and by the steam from the strug-gling creatures, she might have abandonedher efforts in despair, but for a kindly voiceat her elbow which assured her of assistance.At the same moment a sinewy brown handcaught the frightened horse by the curb, andforcing a way through the drove, soon broughther to the outskirts.

“You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,” said herpreserver, respectfully.

She looked up at his dark, fierce face, andlaughed saucily. “I’m awful frightened,” shesaid, naively; “whoever would have thoughtthat Poncho would have been so scared by a


A SINEWY BROWN HAND CAUGHT THEFRIGHTENED HORSE BY THE CURB.

CHAPTER II 147

lot of cows?”“Thank God you kept your seat,” the other

said earnestly. He was a tall, savage-lookingyoung fellow, mounted on a powerful roanhorse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter,with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. “Iguess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,”he remarked, “I saw you ride down from hishouse. When you see him, ask him if he re-members the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis. Ifhe’s the same Ferrier, my father and he werepretty thick.”

“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?”she asked, demurely.

The young fellow seemed pleased at thesuggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled withpleasure. “I’ll do so,” he said, “we’ve been inthe mountains for two months, and are notover and above in visiting condition. He musttake us as he finds us.”

“He has a good deal to thank you for, andso have I,” she answered, “he’s awful fond ofme. If those cows had jumped on me he’d havenever got over it.”

“Neither would I,” said her companion.“You! Well, I don’t see that it would make

much matter to you, anyhow. You ain’t even afriend of ours.”

The young hunter’s dark face grew sogloomy over this remark that Lucy Ferrierlaughed aloud.

“There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; “of


course, you are a friend now. You must comeand see us. Now I must push along, or fatherwon’t trust me with his business any more.Good-bye!”

“Good-bye,” he answered, raising his broadsombrero, and bending over her little hand.She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cutwith her riding-whip, and darted away downthe broad road in a rolling cloud of dust.

Young Jefferson Hope rode on with hiscompanions, gloomy and taciturn. He andthey had been among the Nevada Mountainsprospecting for silver, and were returning toSalt Lake City in the hope of raising capitalenough to work some lodes which they haddiscovered. He had been as keen as any ofthem upon the business until this sudden in-cident had drawn his thoughts into anotherchannel. The sight of the fair young girl, asfrank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes,had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart to itsvery depths. When she had vanished from hissight, he realized that a crisis had come in hislife, and that neither silver speculations norany other questions could ever be of such im-portance to him as this new and all-absorbingone. The love which had sprung up in hisheart was not the sudden, changeable fancyof a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passionof a man of strong will and imperious temper.He had been accustomed to succeed in all thathe undertook. He swore in his heart that he

CHAPTER II 149

would not fail in this if human effort and hu-man perseverance could render him success-ful.

He called on John Ferrier that night, andmany times again, until his face was a famil-iar one at the farm-house. John, cooped up inthe valley, and absorbed in his work, had hadlittle chance of learning the news of the out-side world during the last twelve years. Allthis Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, andin a style which interested Lucy as well as herfather. He had been a pioneer in California,and could narrate many a strange tale of for-tunes made and fortunes lost in those wild,halcyon days. He had been a scout too, anda trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman.Wherever stirring adventures were to be had,Jefferson Hope had been there in search ofthem. He soon became a favourite with the oldfarmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues.On such occasions, Lucy was silent, but herblushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes,showed only too clearly that her young heartwas no longer her own. Her honest fathermay not have observed these symptoms, butthey were assuredly not thrown away uponthe man who had won her affections.

It was a summer evening when he camegalloping down the road and pulled up at thegate. She was at the doorway, and came downto meet him. He threw the bridle over thefence and strode up the pathway.


“I am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her twohands in his, and gazing tenderly down intoher face; “I won’t ask you to come with menow, but will you be ready to come when I amhere again?”

“And when will that be?” she asked, blush-ing and laughing.

“A couple of months at the outside. I willcome and claim you then, my darling. There’sno one who can stand between us.”

“And how about father?” she asked.“He has given his consent, provided we get

these mines working all right. I have no fearon that head.”

“Oh, well; of course, if you and father havearranged it all, there’s no more to be said,” shewhispered, with her cheek against his broadbreast.

“Thank God!” he said, hoarsely, stoopingand kissing her. “It is settled, then. Thelonger I stay, the harder it will be to go. Theyare waiting for me at the cañon. Good-bye, myown darling—good-bye. In two months youshall see me.”

He tore himself from her as he spoke, and,flinging himself upon his horse, galloped fu-riously away, never even looking round, asthough afraid that his resolution might failhim if he took one glance at what he was leav-ing. She stood at the gate, gazing after himuntil he vanished from her sight. Then shewalked back into the house, the happiest girl

CHAPTER II 151

“THE LONGER I STAY, THE HARDER IT WILLBE TO GO.”


in all Utah.

CHAPTER III.JOHN FERRIERTALKS WITH THEPROPHET.

Three weeks had passed since Jefferson Hopeand his comrades had departed from SaltLake City. John Ferrier’s heart was sorewithin him when he thought of the youngman’s return, and of the impending loss of hisadopted child. Yet her bright and happy facereconciled him to the arrangement more thanany argument could have done. He had al-ways determined, deep down in his resoluteheart, that nothing would ever induce him toallow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such amarriage he regarded as no marriage at all,but as a shame and a disgrace. Whatever hemight think of the Mormon doctrines, uponthat one point he was inflexible. He had toseal his mouth on the subject, however, for toexpress an unorthodox opinion was a danger-

153


ous matter in those days in the Land of theSaints.

Yes, a dangerous matter—so dangerousthat even the most saintly dared only whis-per their religious opinions with bated breath,lest something which fell from their lips mightbe misconstrued, and bring down a swift ret-ribution upon them. The victims of persecu-tion had now turned persecutors on their ownaccount, and persecutors of the most terribledescription. Not the Inquisition of Seville, northe German Vehmgericht, nor the Secret So-cieties of Italy, were ever able to put a moreformidable machinery in motion than thatwhich cast a cloud over the State of Utah.

Its invisibility, and the mystery which wasattached to it, made this organization doublyterrible. It appeared to be omniscient and om-nipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard.The man who held out against the Churchvanished away, and none knew whither hehad gone or what had befallen him. His wifeand his children awaited him at home, but nofather ever returned to tell them how he hadfared at the hands of his secret judges. A rashword or a hasty act was followed by annihi-lation, and yet none knew what the naturemight be of this terrible power which was sus-pended over them. No wonder that men wentabout in fear and trembling, and that evenin the heart of the wilderness they dared notwhisper the doubts which oppressed them.

CHAPTER III 155

At first this vague and terrible power wasexercised only upon the recalcitrants who,having embraced the Mormon faith, wishedafterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon,however, it took a wider range. The sup-ply of adult women was running short, andpolygamy without a female population onwhich to draw was a barren doctrine indeed.Strange rumours began to be bandied about—rumours of murdered immigrants and rifledcamps in regions where Indians had neverbeen seen. Fresh women appeared in theharems of the Elders—women who pined andwept, and bore upon their faces the tracesof an unextinguishable horror. Belated wan-derers upon the mountains spoke of gangs ofarmed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless,who flitted by them in the darkness. Thesetales and rumours took substance and shape,and were corroborated and re-corroborated,until they resolved themselves into a definitename. To this day, in the lonely ranches ofthe West, the name of the Danite Band, orthe Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one.

Fuller knowledge of the organizationwhich produced such terrible results servedto increase rather than to lessen the horrorwhich it inspired in the minds of men. Noneknew who belonged to this ruthless society.The names of the participators in the deedsof blood and violence done under the name


of religion were kept profoundly secret. Thevery friend to whom you communicated yourmisgivings as to the Prophet and his mission,might be one of those who would come forthat night with fire and sword to exact a terri-ble reparation. Hence every man feared hisneighbour, and none spoke of the things whichwere nearest his heart.

One fine morning, John Ferrier was aboutto set out to his wheatfields, when he heardthe click of the latch, and, looking through thewindow, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heartleapt to his mouth, for this was none otherthan the great Brigham Young himself. Fullof trepidation—for he knew that such a visitboded him little good—Ferrier ran to the doorto greet the Mormon chief. The latter, how-ever, received his salutations coldly, and fol-lowed him with a stern face into the sitting-room.

“Brother Ferrier,” he said, taking a seat,and eyeing the farmer keenly from under hislight-coloured eyelashes, “the true believershave been good friends to you. We pickedyou up when you were starving in the desert,we shared our food with you, led you safe tothe Chosen Valley, gave you a goodly share ofland, and allowed you to wax rich under ourprotection. Is not this so?”

“It is so,” answered John Ferrier.“In return for all this we asked but one

CHAPTER III 157

condition: that was, that you should embracethe true faith, and conform in every way toits usages. This you promised to do, andthis, if common report says truly, you have ne-glected.”

“And how have I neglected it?” asked Fer-rier, throwing out his hands in expostulation.“Have I not given to the common fund? HaveI not attended at the Temple? Have I not—?”

“Where are your wives?” asked Young,looking round him. “Call them in, that I maygreet them.”

“It is true that I have not married,” Ferrieranswered. “But women were few, and therewere many who had better claims than I. Iwas not a lonely man: I had my daughter toattend to my wants.”

“It is of that daughter that I would speakto you,” said the leader of the Mormons. “Shehas grown to be the flower of Utah, and hasfound favour in the eyes of many who are highin the land.”

John Ferrier groaned internally.“There are stories of her which I would

fain disbelieve—stories that she is sealed tosome Gentile. This must be the gossip of idletongues. What is the thirteenth rule in thecode of the sainted Joseph Smith? ‘Let ev-ery maiden of the true faith marry one of theelect; for if she wed a Gentile, she commits agrievous sin.’ This being so, it is impossiblethat you, who profess the holy creed, should


suffer your daughter to violate it.”John Ferrier made no answer, but he

played nervously with his riding-whip.“Upon this one point your whole faith shall

be tested—so it has been decided in the Sa-cred Council of Four. The girl is young, andwe would not have her wed grey hairs, neitherwould we deprive her of all choice. We Eldershave many heifers,1 but our children mustalso be provided. Stangerson has a son, andDrebber has a son, and either of them wouldgladly welcome your daughter to their house.Let her choose between them. They are youngand rich, and of the true faith. What say youto that?”

Ferrier remained silent for some little timewith his brows knitted.

“You will give us time,” he said at last. “Mydaughter is very young—she is scarce of anage to marry.”

“She shall have a month to choose,” saidYoung, rising from his seat. “At the end of thattime she shall give her answer.”

He was passing through the door, when heturned, with flushed face and flashing eyes.“It were better for you, John Ferrier,” hethundered, “that you and she were now lyingblanched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco,than that you should put your weak willsagainst the orders of the Holy Four!”

1Heber C. Kemball, in one of his sermons, alludes tohis hundred wives under this endearing epithet.

CHAPTER III 159

“IT WERE BETTER FOR YOU, JOHNFERRIER,” HE THUNDERED, “THAT YOU AND

SHE WERE NOW LYING BLANCHEDSKELETONS UPON THE SIERRA BLANCO,

THAN THAT YOU SHOULD PUT YOUR WEAKWILLS AGAINST THE ORDERS OF THE HOLY

FOUR!”


With a threatening gesture of his hand, heturned from the door, and Ferrier heard hisheavy step scrunching along the shingly path.

He was still sitting with his elbows uponhis knees, considering how he should broachthe matter to his daughter when a soft handwas laid upon his, and looking up, he sawher standing beside him. One glance at herpale, frightened face showed him that she hadheard what had passed.

“I could not help it,” she said, in answer tohis look. “His voice rang through the house.Oh, father, father, what shall we do?”

“Don’t you scare yourself,” he answered,drawing her to him, and passing his broad,rough hand caressingly over her chestnuthair. “We’ll fix it up somehow or another. Youdon’t find your fancy kind o’ lessening for thischap, do you?”

A sob and a squeeze of his hand was heronly answer.

“No; of course not. I shouldn’t care to hearyou say you did. He’s a likely lad, and he’sa Christian, which is more than these folkhere, in spite o’ all their praying and preach-ing. There’s a party starting for Nevada to-morrow, and I’ll manage to send him a mes-sage letting him know the hole we are in.If I know anything o’ that young man, he’llbe back here with a speed that would whipelectro-telegraphs.”

Lucy laughed through her tears at her fa-

CHAPTER III 161

ther’s description.“When he comes, he will advise us for the

best. But it is for you that I am frightened,dear. One hears—one hears such dreadfulstories about those who oppose the Prophet:something terrible always happens to them.”

“But we haven’t opposed him yet,” her fa-ther answered. “It will be time to look out forsqualls when we do. We have a clear monthbefore us; at the end of that, I guess we hadbest shin out of Utah.”

“Leave Utah!”“That’s about the size of it.”“But the farm?”“We will raise as much as we can in money,

and let the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy,it isn’t the first time I have thought of doingit. I don’t care about knuckling under to anyman, as these folk do to their darned prophet.I’m a free-born American, and it’s all new tome. Guess I’m too old to learn. If he comesbrowsing about this farm, he might chance torun up against a charge of buckshot travellingin the opposite direction.”

“But they won’t let us leave,” his daughterobjected.

“Wait till Jefferson comes, and we’ll soonmanage that. In the meantime, don’t you fretyourself, my dearie, and don’t get your eyesswelled up, else he’ll be walking into me whenhe sees you. There’s nothing to be afearedabout, and there’s no danger at all.”


John Ferrier uttered these consoling re-marks in a very confident tone, but she couldnot help observing that he paid unusual careto the fastening of the doors that night, andthat he carefully cleaned and loaded the rustyold shotgun which hung upon the wall of hisbedroom.

CHAPTER IV. AFLIGHT FOR LIFE.

On the morning which followed his interviewwith the Mormon Prophet, John Ferrier wentin to Salt Lake City, and having found his ac-quaintance, who was bound for the NevadaMountains, he entrusted him with his mes-sage to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the youngman of the imminent danger which threat-ened them, and how necessary it was that heshould return. Having done thus he felt easierin his mind, and returned home with a lighterheart.

As he approached his farm, he was sur-prised to see a horse hitched to each of theposts of the gate. Still more surprised was heon entering to find two young men in posses-sion of his sitting-room. One, with a long paleface, was leaning back in the rocking-chair,with his feet cocked up upon the stove. Theother, a bull-necked youth with coarse bloatedfeatures, was standing in front of the windowwith his hands in his pocket, whistling a pop-

163


ular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier ashe entered, and the one in the rocking-chaircommenced the conversation.

“Maybe you don’t know us,” he said. “Thishere is the son of Elder Drebber, and I’mJoseph Stangerson, who travelled with you inthe desert when the Lord stretched out Hishand and gathered you into the true fold.”

“As He will all the nations in His own goodtime,” said the other in a nasal voice; “Hegrindeth slowly but exceeding small.”

John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessedwho his visitors were.

“We have come,” continued Stangerson, “atthe advice of our fathers to solicit the hand ofyour daughter for whichever of us may seemgood to you and to her. As I have but fourwives and Brother Drebber here has seven, itappears to me that my claim is the strongerone.”

“Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,” cried theother; “the question is not how many wives wehave, but how many we can keep. My fatherhas now given over his mills to me, and I amthe richer man.”

“But my prospects are better,” said theother, warmly. “When the Lord removes myfather, I shall have his tanning yard and hisleather factory. Then I am your elder, and amhigher in the Church.”

“It will be for the maiden to decide,” re-joined young Drebber, smirking at his own re-

CHAPTER IV 165

flection in the glass. “We will leave it all to herdecision.”

During this dialogue, John Ferrier hadstood fuming in the doorway, hardly able tokeep his riding-whip from the backs of his twovisitors.

“Look here,” he said at last, striding up tothem, “when my daughter summons you, youcan come, but until then I don’t want to seeyour faces again.”

The two young Mormons stared at him inamazement. In their eyes this competition be-tween them for the maiden’s hand was thehighest of honours both to her and her father.

“There are two ways out of the room,” criedFerrier; “there is the door, and there is thewindow. Which do you care to use?”

His brown face looked so savage, and hisgaunt hands so threatening, that his visitorssprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat.The old farmer followed them to the door.

“Let me know when you have settled whichit is to be,” he said, sardonically.

“You shall smart for this!” Stangersoncried, white with rage. “You have defied theProphet and the Council of Four. You shallrue it to the end of your days.”

“The hand of the Lord shall be heavy uponyou,” cried young Drebber; “He will arise andsmite you!”

“Then I’ll start the smiting,” exclaimedFerrier furiously, and would have rushed up-


stairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him bythe arm and restrained him. Before he couldescape from her, the clatter of horses’ hoofstold him that they were beyond his reach.

“The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed,wiping the perspiration from his forehead; “Iwould sooner see you in your grave, my girl,than the wife of either of them.”

“And so should I, father,” she answered,with spirit; “but Jefferson will soon be here.”

“Yes. It will not be long before he comes.The sooner the better, for we do not knowwhat their next move may be.”

It was, indeed, high time that someone ca-pable of giving advice and help should cometo the aid of the sturdy old farmer and hisadopted daughter. In the whole history of thesettlement there had never been such a caseof rank disobedience to the authority of the El-ders. If minor errors were punished so sternly,what would be the fate of this arch rebel. Fer-rier knew that his wealth and position wouldbe of no avail to him. Others as well knownand as rich as himself had been spirited awaybefore now, and their goods given over to theChurch. He was a brave man, but he trembledat the vague, shadowy terrors which hungover him. Any known danger he could facewith a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerv-ing. He concealed his fears from his daugh-ter, however, and affected to make light of thewhole matter, though she, with the keen eye

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of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease.He expected that he would receive some

message or remonstrance from Young as to hisconduct, and he was not mistaken, though itcame in an unlooked-for manner. Upon ris-ing next morning he found, to his surprise, asmall square of paper pinned on to the cover-let of his bed just over his chest. On it wasprinted, in bold straggling letters:—

“TWENTY-NINE DAYS ARE GIVENYOU FOR AMENDMENT, ANDTHEN—”

The dash was more fear-inspiring thanany threat could have been. How this warn-ing came into his room puzzled John Fer-rier sorely, for his servants slept in an out-house, and the doors and windows had allbeen secured. He crumpled the paper up andsaid nothing to his daughter, but the incidentstruck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days were evidently the balance of themonth which Young had promised. Whatstrength or courage could avail against anenemy armed with such mysterious powers?The hand which fastened that pin might havestruck him to the heart, and he could neverhave known who had slain him.

Still more shaken was he next morning.They had sat down to their breakfast whenLucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards.In the centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with


a burned stick apparently, the number 28. Tohis daughter it was unintelligible, and he didnot enlighten her. That night he sat up withhis gun and kept watch and ward. He sawand he heard nothing, and yet in the morninga great 27 had been painted upon the outsideof his door.

Thus day followed day; and as sure asmorning came he found that his unseen ene-mies had kept their register, and had markedup in some conspicuous position how manydays were still left to him out of the month ofgrace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appearedupon the walls, sometimes upon the floors, oc-casionally they were on small placards stuckupon the garden gate or the railings. With allhis vigilance John Ferrier could not discoverwhence these daily warnings proceeded. Ahorror which was almost superstitious cameupon him at the sight of them. He becamehaggard and restless, and his eyes had thetroubled look of some hunted creature. Hehad but one hope in life now, and that was forthe arrival of the young hunter from Nevada.

Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteento ten, but there was no news of the absentee.One by one the numbers dwindled down, andstill there came no sign of him. Whenever ahorseman clattered down the road, or a drivershouted at his team, the old farmer hurriedto the gate thinking that help had arrived atlast. At last, when he saw five give way to

CHAPTER IV 169

four and that again to three, he lost heart,and abandoned all hope of escape. Single-handed, and with his limited knowledge ofthe mountains which surrounded the settle-ment, he knew that he was powerless. Themore-frequented roads were strictly watchedand guarded, and none could pass along themwithout an order from the Council. Turnwhich way he would, there appeared to be noavoiding the blow which hung over him. Yetthe old man never wavered in his resolutionto part with life itself before he consented towhat he regarded as his daughter’s dishonour.

He was sitting alone one evening ponder-ing deeply over his troubles, and searchingvainly for some way out of them. That morn-ing had shown the figure 2 upon the wall of hishouse, and the next day would be the last ofthe allotted time. What was to happen then?All manner of vague and terrible fancies filledhis imagination. And his daughter—what wasto become of her after he was gone? Was thereno escape from the invisible network whichwas drawn all round them. He sank his headupon the table and sobbed at the thought ofhis own impotence.

What was that? In the silence he hearda gentle scratching sound—low, but very dis-tinct in the quiet of the night. It came fromthe door of the house. Ferrier crept into thehall and listened intently. There was a pausefor a few moments, and then the low insidious


sound was repeated. Someone was evidentlytapping very gently upon one of the panelsof the door. Was it some midnight assassinwho had come to carry out the murderous or-ders of the secret tribunal? Or was it someagent who was marking up that the last dayof grace had arrived. John Ferrier felt that in-stant death would be better than the suspensewhich shook his nerves and chilled his heart.Springing forward he drew the bolt and threwthe door open.

Outside all was calm and quiet. Thenight was fine, and the stars were twinklingbrightly overhead. The little front garden laybefore the farmer’s eyes bounded by the fenceand gate, but neither there nor on the roadwas any human being to be seen. With a sighof relief, Ferrier looked to right and to left, un-til happening to glance straight down at hisown feet he saw to his astonishment a manlying flat upon his face upon the ground, witharms and legs all asprawl.

So unnerved was he at the sight that heleaned up against the wall with his hand tohis throat to stifle his inclination to call out.His first thought was that the prostrate fig-ure was that of some wounded or dying man,but as he watched it he saw it writhe along theground and into the hall with the rapidity andnoiselessness of a serpent. Once within thehouse the man sprang to his feet, closed thedoor, and revealed to the astonished farmer

CHAPTER IV 171

HE SAW TO HIS ASTONISHMENT A MANLYING FLAT UPON HIS FACE UPON THE

GROUND.


the fierce face and resolute expression of Jef-ferson Hope.

“Good God!” gasped John Ferrier. “Howyou scared me! Whatever made you come inlike that.”

“Give me food,” the other said, hoarsely. “Ihave had no time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours.” He flung himself upon the coldmeat and bread which were still lying uponthe table from his host’s supper, and devouredit voraciously. “Does Lucy bear up well?” heasked, when he had satisfied his hunger.

“Yes. She does not know the danger,” herfather answered.

“That is well. The house is watched on ev-ery side. That is why I crawled my way up toit. They may be darned sharp, but they’re notquite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter.”

John Ferrier felt a different man now thathe realized that he had a devoted ally. Heseized the young man’s leathery hand andwrung it cordially. “You’re a man to be proudof,” he said. “There are not many who wouldcome to share our danger and our troubles.”

“You’ve hit it there, pard,” the younghunter answered. “I have a respect for you,but if you were alone in this business I’d thinktwice before I put my head into such a hornet’snest. It’s Lucy that brings me here, and beforeharm comes on her I guess there will be oneless o’ the Hope family in Utah.”

“What are we to do?”

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“To-morrow is your last day, and unlessyou act to-night you are lost. I have a muleand two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine.How much money have you?”

“Two thousand dollars in gold, and five innotes.”

“That will do. I have as much more to addto it. We must push for Carson City throughthe mountains. You had best wake Lucy. It isas well that the servants do not sleep in thehouse.”

While Ferrier was absent, preparing hisdaughter for the approaching journey, Jeffer-son Hope packed all the eatables that he couldfind into a small parcel, and filled a stonewarejar with water, for he knew by experience thatthe mountain wells were few and far between.He had hardly completed his arrangementsbefore the farmer returned with his daughterall dressed and ready for a start. The greetingbetween the lovers was warm, but brief, forminutes were precious, and there was muchto be done.

“We must make our start at once,” said Jef-ferson Hope, speaking in a low but resolutevoice, like one who realizes the greatness ofthe peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it.“The front and back entrances are watched,but with caution we may get away through theside window and across the fields. Once on theroad we are only two miles from the Ravinewhere the horses are waiting. By daybreak we


should be half-way through the mountains.”“What if we are stopped,” asked Ferrier.Hope slapped the revolver butt which pro-

truded from the front of his tunic. “If they aretoo many for us we shall take two or three ofthem with us,” he said with a sinister smile.

The lights inside the house had all beenextinguished, and from the darkened windowFerrier peered over the fields which had beenhis own, and which he was now about to aban-don for ever. He had long nerved himself tothe sacrifice, however, and the thought of thehonour and happiness of his daughter out-weighed any regret at his ruined fortunes.All looked so peaceful and happy, the rustlingtrees and the broad silent stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that thespirit of murder lurked through it all. Yetthe white face and set expression of the younghunter showed that in his approach to thehouse he had seen enough to satisfy him uponthat head.

Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes,Jefferson Hope had the scanty provisions andwater, while Lucy had a small bundle con-taining a few of her more valued possessions.Opening the window very slowly and care-fully, they waited until a dark cloud had some-what obscured the night, and then one by onepassed through into the little garden. Withbated breath and crouching figures they stum-bled across it, and gained the shelter of the

CHAPTER IV 175

hedge, which they skirted until they cameto the gap which opened into the cornfields.They had just reached this point when theyoung man seized his two companions anddragged them down into the shadow, wherethey lay silent and trembling.

It was as well that his prairie training hadgiven Jefferson Hope the ears of a lynx. Heand his friends had hardly crouched down be-fore the melancholy hooting of a mountain owlwas heard within a few yards of them, whichwas immediately answered by another hootat a small distance. At the same moment avague shadowy figure emerged from the gapfor which they had been making, and utteredthe plaintive signal cry again, on which a sec-ond man appeared out of the obscurity.

“To-morrow at midnight,” said the firstwho appeared to be in authority. “When theWhip-poor-Will calls three times.”

“It is well,” returned the other. “Shall I tellBrother Drebber?”

“Pass it on to him, and from him to the oth-ers. Nine to seven!”

“Seven to five!” repeated the other, and thetwo figures flitted away in different directions.Their concluding words had evidently beensome form of sign and countersign. The in-stant that their footsteps had died away in thedistance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet,and helping his companions through the gap,led the way across the fields at the top of his


“NINE TO SEVEN!” CRIED THE SENTINEL.

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speed, supporting and half-carrying the girlwhen her strength appeared to fail her.

“Hurry on! hurry on!” he gasped from timeto time. “We are through the line of sentinels.Everything depends on speed. Hurry on!”

Once on the high road they made rapidprogress. Only once did they meet anyone,and then they managed to slip into a field,and so avoid recognition. Before reachingthe town the hunter branched away into arugged and narrow footpath which led to themountains. Two dark jagged peaks loomedabove them through the darkness, and thedefile which led between them was the Ea-gle Canon in which the horses were await-ing them. With unerring instinct JeffersonHope picked his way among the great boul-ders and along the bed of a dried-up water-course, until he came to the retired corner,screened with rocks, where the faithful ani-mals had been picketed. The girl was placedupon the mule, and old Ferrier upon one ofthe horses, with his money-bag, while Jeffer-son Hope led the other along the precipitousand dangerous path.

It was a bewildering route for anyone whowas not accustomed to face Nature in herwildest moods. On the one side a greatcrag towered up a thousand feet or more,black, stern, and menacing, with long basalticcolumns upon its rugged surface like the ribsof some petrified monster. On the other hand


a wild chaos of boulders and debris made alladvance impossible. Between the two ran theirregular track, so narrow in places that theyhad to travel in Indian file, and so rough thatonly practised riders could have traversed itat all. Yet in spite of all dangers and diffi-culties, the hearts of the fugitives were lightwithin them, for every step increased the dis-tance between them and the terrible despo-tism from which they were flying.

They soon had a proof, however, that theywere still within the jurisdiction of the Saints.They had reached the very wildest and mostdesolate portion of the pass when the girl gavea startled cry, and pointed upwards. On arock which overlooked the track, showing outdark and plain against the sky, there stooda solitary sentinel. He saw them as soon asthey perceived him, and his military challengeof “Who goes there?” rang through the silentravine.

“Travellers for Nevada,” said JeffersonHope, with his hand upon the rifle which hungby his saddle.

They could see the lonely watcher finger-ing his gun, and peering down at them as ifdissatisfied at their reply.

“By whose permission?” he asked.“The Holy Four,” answered Ferrier. His

Mormon experiences had taught him thatthat was the highest authority to which hecould refer.

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“Nine from seven,” cried the sentinel.“Seven from five,” returned Jefferson

Hope promptly, remembering the countersignwhich he had heard in the garden.

“Pass, and the Lord go with you,” said thevoice from above. Beyond his post the pathbroadened out, and the horses were able tobreak into a trot. Looking back, they couldsee the solitary watcher leaning upon his gun,and knew that they had passed the outlyingpost of the chosen people, and that freedomlay before them.

CHAPTER V. THEAVENGINGANGELS.

All night their course lay through intricatedefiles and over irregular and rock-strewnpaths. More than once they lost their way, butHope’s intimate knowledge of the mountainsenabled them to regain the track once more.When morning broke, a scene of marvellousthough savage beauty lay before them. Inevery direction the great snow-capped peakshemmed them in, peeping over each other’sshoulders to the far horizon. So steep werethe rocky banks on either side of them, thatthe larch and the pine seemed to be suspendedover their heads, and to need only a gust ofwind to come hurtling down upon them. Norwas the fear entirely an illusion, for the bar-ren valley was thickly strewn with trees andboulders which had fallen in a similar man-ner. Even as they passed, a great rock camethundering down with a hoarse rattle which

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woke the echoes in the silent gorges, and star-tled the weary horses into a gallop.

As the sun rose slowly above the easternhorizon, the caps of the great mountains litup one after the other, like lamps at a fes-tival, until they were all ruddy and glowing.The magnificent spectacle cheered the heartsof the three fugitives and gave them fresh en-ergy. At a wild torrent which swept out of aravine they called a halt and watered theirhorses, while they partook of a hasty break-fast. Lucy and her father would fain haverested longer, but Jefferson Hope was inex-orable. “They will be upon our track by thistime,” he said. “Everything depends upon ourspeed. Once safe in Carson we may rest forthe remainder of our lives.”

During the whole of that day they strug-gled on through the defiles, and by eveningthey calculated that they were more thanthirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they chose the base of a beetling crag,where the rocks offered some protection fromthe chill wind, and there huddled together forwarmth, they enjoyed a few hours’ sleep. Be-fore daybreak, however, they were up and ontheir way once more. They had seen no signsof any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began tothink that they were fairly out of the reach ofthe terrible organization whose enmity theyhad incurred. He little knew how far that irongrasp could reach, or how soon it was to close

CHAPTER V 183

upon them and crush them.About the middle of the second day of their

flight their scanty store of provisions beganto run out. This gave the hunter little un-easiness, however, for there was game to behad among the mountains, and he had fre-quently before had to depend upon his riflefor the needs of life. Choosing a shelterednook, he piled together a few dried branchesand made a blazing fire, at which his compan-ions might warm themselves, for they werenow nearly five thousand feet above the sealevel, and the air was bitter and keen. Havingtethered the horses, and bade Lucy adieu, hethrew his gun over his shoulder, and set outin search of whatever chance might throw inhis way. Looking back he saw the old man andthe young girl crouching over the blazing fire,while the three animals stood motionless inthe back-ground. Then the intervening rockshid them from his view.

He walked for a couple of miles throughone ravine after another without success,though from the marks upon the bark of thetrees, and other indications, he judged thatthere were numerous bears in the vicinity. Atlast, after two or three hours’ fruitless search,he was thinking of turning back in despair,when casting his eyes upwards he saw a sightwhich sent a thrill of pleasure through hisheart. On the edge of a jutting pinnacle, threeor four hundred feet above him, there stood a


creature somewhat resembling a sheep in ap-pearance, but armed with a pair of gigantichorns. The big-horn—for so it is called—wasacting, probably, as a guardian over a flockwhich were invisible to the hunter; but for-tunately it was heading in the opposite direc-tion, and had not perceived him. Lying on hisface, he rested his rifle upon a rock, and tooka long and steady aim before drawing the trig-ger. The animal sprang into the air, totteredfor a moment upon the edge of the precipice,and then came crashing down into the valleybeneath.

The creature was too unwieldy to lift, sothe hunter contented himself with cuttingaway one haunch and part of the flank. Withthis trophy over his shoulder, he hastened toretrace his steps, for the evening was alreadydrawing in. He had hardly started, however,before he realized the difficulty which facedhim. In his eagerness he had wandered farpast the ravines which were known to him,and it was no easy matter to pick out thepath which he had taken. The valley in whichhe found himself divided and sub-divided intomany gorges, which were so like each otherthat it was impossible to distinguish one fromthe other. He followed one for a mile or moreuntil he came to a mountain torrent whichhe was sure that he had never seen before.Convinced that he had taken the wrong turn,he tried another, but with the same result.

CHAPTER V 185

Night was coming on rapidly, and it was al-most dark before he at last found himself in adefile which was familiar to him. Even then itwas no easy matter to keep to the right track,for the moon had not yet risen, and the highcliffs on either side made the obscurity moreprofound. Weighed down with his burden, andweary from his exertions, he stumbled along,keeping up his heart by the reflection that ev-ery step brought him nearer to Lucy, and thathe carried with him enough to ensure themfood for the remainder of their journey.

He had now come to the mouth of the verydefile in which he had left them. Even in thedarkness he could recognize the outline of thecliffs which bounded it. They must, he re-flected, be awaiting him anxiously, for he hadbeen absent nearly five hours. In the gladnessof his heart he put his hands to his mouthand made the glen re-echo to a loud hallooas a signal that he was coming. He pausedand listened for an answer. None came savehis own cry, which clattered up the drearysilent ravines, and was borne back to his earsin countless repetitions. Again he shouted,even louder than before, and again no whis-per came back from the friends whom he hadleft such a short time ago. A vague, namelessdread came over him, and he hurried onwardsfrantically, dropping the precious food in hisagitation.

When he turned the corner, he came full


in sight of the spot where the fire had beenlit. There was still a glowing pile of woodashes there, but it had evidently not beentended since his departure. The same dead si-lence still reigned all round. With his fears allchanged to convictions, he hurried on. Therewas no living creature near the remains ofthe fire: animals, man, maiden, all weregone. It was only too clear that some sud-den and terrible disaster had occurred duringhis absence—a disaster which had embracedthem all, and yet had left no traces behind it.

Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jef-ferson Hope felt his head spin round, and hadto lean upon his rifle to save himself fromfalling. He was essentially a man of action,however, and speedily recovered from his tem-porary impotence. Seizing a half-consumedpiece of wood from the smouldering fire, heblew it into a flame, and proceeded with itshelp to examine the little camp. The groundwas all stamped down by the feet of horses,showing that a large party of mounted menhad overtaken the fugitives, and the direc-tion of their tracks proved that they had af-terwards turned back to Salt Lake City. Hadthey carried back both of his companions withthem? Jefferson Hope had almost persuadedhimself that they must have done so, whenhis eye fell upon an object which made everynerve of his body tingle within him. A littleway on one side of the camp was a low-lying

CHAPTER V 187

heap of reddish soil, which had assuredly notbeen there before. There was no mistaking itfor anything but a newly-dug grave. As theyoung hunter approached it, he perceived thata stick had been planted on it, with a sheet ofpaper stuck in the cleft fork of it. The inscrip-tion upon the paper was brief, but to the point:

JOHN FERRIER,FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY,

DIED AUGUST 4TH, 1860.

The sturdy old man, whom he had left soshort a time before, was gone, then, and thiswas all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope lookedwildly round to see if there was a secondgrave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy hadbeen carried back by their terrible pursuers tofulfil her original destiny, by becoming one ofthe harem of the Elder’s son. As the young fel-low realized the certainty of her fate, and hisown powerlessness to prevent it, he wishedthat he, too, was lying with the old farmer inhis last silent resting-place.

Again, however, his active spirit shook offthe lethargy which springs from despair. Ifthere was nothing else left to him, he couldat least devote his life to revenge. With in-domitable patience and perseverance, Jeffer-son Hope possessed also a power of sustainedvindictiveness, which he may have learnedfrom the Indians amongst whom he had lived.As he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that


“JOHN FERRIER, FORMERLY OF SALT LAKECITY. DIED AUGUST 4TH, 1860.”

CHAPTER V 189

the only one thing which could assuage hisgrief would be thorough and complete retri-bution, brought by his own hand upon his en-emies. His strong will and untiring energyshould, he determined, be devoted to that oneend. With a grim, white face, he retracedhis steps to where he had dropped the food,and having stirred up the smouldering fire,he cooked enough to last him for a few days.This he made up into a bundle, and, tired ashe was, he set himself to walk back throughthe mountains upon the track of the avengingangels.

For five days he toiled footsore and wearythrough the defiles which he had already tra-versed on horseback. At night he flung him-self down among the rocks, and snatched afew hours of sleep; but before daybreak hewas always well on his way. On the sixth day,he reached the Eagle Cañon, from which theyhad commenced their ill-fated flight. Thencehe could look down upon the home of thesaints. Worn and exhausted, he leaned uponhis rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely atthe silent widespread city beneath him. As helooked at it, he observed that there were flagsin some of the principal streets, and othersigns of festivity. He was still speculating asto what this might mean when he heard theclatter of horse’s hoofs, and saw a mountedman riding towards him. As he approached,he recognized him as a Mormon named Cow-


per, to whom he had rendered services at dif-ferent times. He therefore accosted him whenhe got up to him, with the object of finding outwhat Lucy Ferrier’s fate had been.

“I am Jefferson Hope,” he said. “You re-member me.”

The Mormon looked at him with undis-guised astonishment—indeed, it was difficultto recognize in this tattered, unkempt wan-derer, with ghastly white face and fierce, wildeyes, the spruce young hunter of former days.Having, however, at last, satisfied himself asto his identity, the man’s surprise changed toconsternation.

“You are mad to come here,” he cried. “Itis as much as my own life is worth to be seentalking with you. There is a warrant againstyou from the Holy Four for assisting the Fer-riers away.”

“I don’t fear them, or their warrant,” Hopesaid, earnestly. “You must know something ofthis matter, Cowper. I conjure you by every-thing you hold dear to answer a few questions.We have always been friends. For God’s sake,don’t refuse to answer me.”

“What is it?” the Mormon asked uneasily.“Be quick. The very rocks have ears and thetrees eyes.”

“What has become of Lucy Ferrier?”“She was married yesterday to young

Drebber. Hold up, man, hold up, you have nolife left in you.”

CHAPTER V 191

“Don’t mind me,” said Hope faintly. He waswhite to the very lips, and had sunk down onthe stone against which he had been leaning.“Married, you say?”

“Married yesterday—that’s what thoseflags are for on the Endowment House. Therewas some words between young Drebber andyoung Stangerson as to which was to have her.They’d both been in the party that followedthem, and Stangerson had shot her father,which seemed to give him the best claim; butwhen they argued it out in council, Drebber’sparty was the stronger, so the Prophet gaveher over to him. No one won’t have her verylong though, for I saw death in her face yester-day. She is more like a ghost than a woman.Are you off, then?”

“Yes, I am off,” said Jefferson Hope, whohad risen from his seat. His face might havebeen chiselled out of marble, so hard and setwas its expression, while its eyes glowed witha baleful light.

“Where are you going?”“Never mind,” he answered; and, slinging

his weapon over his shoulder, strode off downthe gorge and so away into the heart of themountains to the haunts of the wild beasts.Amongst them all there was none so fierce andso dangerous as himself.

The prediction of the Mormon was onlytoo well fulfilled. Whether it was the terribledeath of her father or the effects of the hate-


ful marriage into which she had been forced,poor Lucy never held up her head again, butpined away and died within a month. Hersottish husband, who had married her prin-cipally for the sake of John Ferrier’s prop-erty, did not affect any great grief at his be-reavement; but his other wives mourned overher, and sat up with her the night before theburial, as is the Mormon custom. They weregrouped round the bier in the early hours ofthe morning, when, to their inexpressible fearand astonishment, the door was flung open,and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man intattered garments strode into the room. With-out a glance or a word to the cowering women,he walked up to the white silent figure whichhad once contained the pure soul of Lucy Fer-rier. Stooping over her, he pressed his lips rev-erently to her cold forehead, and then, snatch-ing up her hand, he took the wedding-ringfrom her finger. “She shall not be buried inthat,” he cried with a fierce snarl, and be-fore an alarm could be raised sprang down thestairs and was gone. So strange and so briefwas the episode, that the watchers might havefound it hard to believe it themselves or per-suade other people of it, had it not been for theundeniable fact that the circlet of gold whichmarked her as having been a bride had disap-peared.

For some months Jefferson Hope lingeredamong the mountains, leading a strange wild

CHAPTER V 193

life, and nursing in his heart the fierce de-sire for vengeance which possessed him. Taleswere told in the City of the weird figure whichwas seen prowling about the suburbs, andwhich haunted the lonely mountain gorges.Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson’swindow and flattened itself upon the wallwithin a foot of him. On another occasion, asDrebber passed under a cliff a great bouldercrashed down on him, and he only escaped aterrible death by throwing himself upon hisface. The two young Mormons were not longin discovering the reason of these attemptsupon their lives, and led repeated expeditionsinto the mountains in the hope of capturing orkilling their enemy, but always without suc-cess. Then they adopted the precaution ofnever going out alone or after nightfall, andof having their houses guarded. After a timethey were able to relax these measures, fornothing was either heard or seen of their op-ponent, and they hoped that time had cooledhis vindictiveness.

Far from doing so, it had, if anything, aug-mented it. The hunter’s mind was of a hard,unyielding nature, and the predominant ideaof revenge had taken such complete posses-sion of it that there was no room for any otheremotion. He was, however, above all thingspractical. He soon realized that even hisiron constitution could not stand the incessantstrain which he was putting upon it. Expo-


sure and want of wholesome food were wear-ing him out. If he died like a dog among themountains, what was to become of his revengethen? And yet such a death was sure to over-take him if he persisted. He felt that that wasto play his enemy’s game, so he reluctantly re-turned to the old Nevada mines, there to re-cruit his health and to amass money enoughto allow him to pursue his object without pri-vation.

His intention had been to be absent a yearat the most, but a combination of unfore-seen circumstances prevented his leaving themines for nearly five. At the end of that time,however, his memory of his wrongs and hiscraving for revenge were quite as keen as onthat memorable night when he had stood byJohn Ferrier’s grave. Disguised, and underan assumed name, he returned to Salt LakeCity, careless what became of his own life,as long as he obtained what he knew to bejustice. There he found evil tidings awaitinghim. There had been a schism among the Cho-sen People a few months before, some of theyounger members of the Church having re-belled against the authority of the Elders, andthe result had been the secession of a certainnumber of the malcontents, who had left Utahand become Gentiles. Among these had beenDrebber and Stangerson; and no one knewwhither they had gone. Rumour reported thatDrebber had managed to convert a large part

CHAPTER V 195

of his property into money, and that he had de-parted a wealthy man, while his companion,Stangerson, was comparatively poor. Therewas no clue at all, however, as to their where-abouts.

Many a man, however vindictive, wouldhave abandoned all thought of revenge in theface of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hopenever faltered for a moment. With the smallcompetence he possessed, eked out by suchemployment as he could pick up, he travelledfrom town to town through the United Statesin quest of his enemies. Year passed intoyear, his black hair turned grizzled, but stillhe wandered on, a human bloodhound, withhis mind wholly set upon the one object uponwhich he had devoted his life. At last his per-severance was rewarded. It was but a glanceof a face in a window, but that one glance toldhim that Cleveland in Ohio possessed the menwhom he was in pursuit of. He returned to hismiserable lodgings with his plan of vengeanceall arranged. It chanced, however, that Dreb-ber, looking from his window, had recognizedthe vagrant in the street, and had read mur-der in his eyes. He hurried before a justice ofthe peace, accompanied by Stangerson, whohad become his private secretary, and repre-sented to him that they were in danger oftheir lives from the jealousy and hatred of anold rival. That evening Jefferson Hope wastaken into custody, and not being able to find


sureties, was detained for some weeks. Whenat last he was liberated, it was only to findthat Drebber’s house was deserted, and thathe and his secretary had departed for Europe.

Again the avenger had been foiled, andagain his concentrated hatred urged him tocontinue the pursuit. Funds were wanting,however, and for some time he had to return towork, saving every dollar for his approachingjourney. At last, having collected enough tokeep life in him, he departed for Europe, andtracked his enemies from city to city, work-ing his way in any menial capacity, but neverovertaking the fugitives. When he reached St.Petersburg they had departed for Paris; andwhen he followed them there he learned thatthey had just set off for Copenhagen. At theDanish capital he was again a few days late,for they had journeyed on to London, wherehe at last succeeded in running them to earth.As to what occurred there, we cannot do bet-ter than quote the old hunter’s own account,as duly recorded in Dr. Watson’s Journal, towhich we are already under such obligations.

CHAPTER VI. ACONTINUATIONOF THEREMINISCENCESOF JOHNWATSON, M.D.

Our prisoner’s furious resistance did not ap-parently indicate any ferocity in his disposi-tion towards ourselves, for on finding himselfpowerless, he smiled in an affable manner,and expressed his hopes that he had not hurtany of us in the scuffle. “I guess you’re goingto take me to the police-station,” he remarkedto Sherlock Holmes. “My cab’s at the door. Ifyou’ll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. I’mnot so light to lift as I used to be.”

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glancesas if they thought this proposition rather a

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bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisonerat his word, and loosened the towel which wehad bound round his ankles. He rose andstretched his legs, as though to assure himselfthat they were free once more. I rememberthat I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that Ihad seldom seen a more powerfully built man;and his dark sunburned face bore an expres-sion of determination and energy which wasas formidable as his personal strength.

“If there’s a vacant place for a chief of thepolice, I reckon you are the man for it,” hesaid, gazing with undisguised admiration atmy fellow-lodger. “The way you kept on mytrail was a caution.”

“You had better come with me,” saidHolmes 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 inter-est in the case and may as well stick to us.”

I assented gladly, and we all descended to-gether. Our prisoner made no attempt at es-cape, but stepped calmly into the cab whichhad been his, and we followed him. Lestrademounted the box, whipped up the horse, andbrought us in a very short time to our destina-tion. We were ushered into a small chamberwhere a police Inspector noted down our pris-oner’s name and the names of the men withwhose murder he had been charged. The offi-cial was a white-faced unemotional man, who

CHAPTER VI 199

went through his duties in a dull mechanicalway. “The prisoner will be put before the mag-istrates in the course of the week,” he said; “inthe mean time, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have youanything that you wish to say? I must warnyou that your words will be taken down, andmay be used against you.”

“I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisonersaid slowly. “I want to tell you gentlemen allabout it.”

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

“I may never be tried,” he answered. “Youneedn’t look startled. It isn’t suicide I amthinking of. Are you a Doctor?” He turnedhis fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked thislast question.

“Yes; I am,” I answered.“Then put your hand here,” he said, with

a smile, motioning with his manacled wriststowards his chest.

I did so; and became at once consciousof an extraordinary throbbing and commotionwhich was going on inside. The walls of hischest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frailbuilding would do inside when some power-ful engine was at work. In the silence ofthe room I could hear a dull humming andbuzzing noise which proceeded from the samesource.

“Why,” I cried, “you have an aorticaneurism!”


“I’VE GOT A GOOD DEAL TO SAY,” OURPRISONER SAID SLOWLY.

CHAPTER VI 201

“That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly.“I went to a Doctor last week about it, and hetold me that it is bound to burst before manydays passed. It has been getting worse foryears. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. I’vedone my work now, and I don’t care how soonI go, but I should like to leave some accountof the business behind me. I don’t want to beremembered as a common cut-throat.”

The Inspector and the two detectives hada hurried discussion as to the advisability ofallowing him to tell his story.

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

“Most certainly there is,” I answered.“In that case it is clearly our duty, in the in-

terests of justice, to take his statement,” saidthe Inspector. “You are at liberty, sir, to giveyour account, which I again warn you will betaken down.”

“I’ll sit down, with your leave,” the pris-oner said, suiting the action to the word. “Thisaneurism of mine makes me easily tired, andthe tussle we had half an hour ago has notmended matters. I’m on the brink of thegrave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Everyword I say is the absolute truth, and how youuse it is a matter of no consequence to me.”

With these words, Jefferson Hope leanedback in his chair and began the follow-ing remarkable statement. He spoke in a


calm and methodical manner, as though theevents which he narrated were commonplaceenough. I can vouch for the accuracy of thesubjoined account, for I have had access toLestrade’s note-book, in which the prisoner’swords were taken down exactly as they wereuttered.

“It don’t much matter to you why I hatedthese men,” he said; “it’s enough that theywere guilty of the death of two humanbeings—a father and a daughter—and thatthey had, therefore, forfeited their own lives.After the lapse of time that has passed sincetheir crime, it was impossible for me to se-cure a conviction against them in any court. Iknew of their guilt though, and I determinedthat I should be judge, jury, and executionerall rolled into one. You’d have done the same,if you have any manhood in you, if you hadbeen in my place.

“That girl that I spoke of was to have mar-ried me twenty years ago. She was forcedinto marrying that same Drebber, and brokeher heart over it. I took the marriage ringfrom her dead finger, and I vowed that his dy-ing eyes should rest upon that very ring, andthat his last thoughts should be of the crimefor which he was punished. I have carried itabout with me, and have followed him and hisaccomplice over two continents until I caughtthem. They thought to tire me out, but theycould not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely

CHAPTER VI 203

enough, I die knowing that my work in thisworld is done, and well done. They have per-ished, and by my hand. There is nothing leftfor me to hope for, or to desire.

“They were rich and I was poor, so thatit was no easy matter for me to follow them.When I got to London my pocket was aboutempty, and I found that I must turn my handto something for my living. Driving and rid-ing are as natural to me as walking, so I ap-plied at a cabowner’s office, and soon got em-ployment. I was to bring a certain sum aweek to the owner, and whatever was overthat I might keep for myself. There was sel-dom much over, but I managed to scrape alongsomehow. The hardest job was to learn myway about, for I reckon that of all the mazesthat ever were contrived, this city is the mostconfusing. I had a map beside me though, andwhen once I had spotted the principal hotelsand stations, I got on pretty well.

“It was some time before I found out wheremy two gentlemen were living; but I inquiredand inquired until at last I dropped acrossthem. They were at a boarding-house at Cam-berwell, over on the other side of the river.When once I found them out I knew that I hadthem at my mercy. I had grown my beard, andthere was no chance of their recognizing me. Iwould dog them and follow them until I sawmy opportunity. I was determined that theyshould not escape me again.


“They were very near doing it for all that.Go where they would about London, I wasalways at their heels. Sometimes I followedthem on my cab, and sometimes on foot, butthe former was the best, for then they couldnot get away from me. It was only early in themorning or late at night that I could earn any-thing, so that I began to get behind hand withmy employer. I did not mind that, however, aslong as I could lay my hand upon the men Iwanted.

“They were very cunning, though. Theymust have thought that there was somechance of their being followed, for they wouldnever go out alone, and never after nightfall.During two weeks I drove behind them ev-ery day, and never once saw them separate.Drebber himself was drunk half the time, butStangerson was not to be caught napping. Iwatched them late and early, but never sawthe ghost of a chance; but I was not discour-aged, for something told me that the hour hadalmost come. My only fear was that this thingin my chest might burst a little too soon andleave my work undone.

“At last, one evening I was driving upand down Torquay Terrace, as the street wascalled in which they boarded, when I saw acab drive up to their door. Presently some lug-gage was brought out, and after a time Dreb-ber and Stangerson followed it, and drove off.I whipped up my horse and kept within sight

CHAPTER VI 205

of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I fearedthat they were going to shift their quarters.At Euston Station they got out, and I left aboy to hold my horse, and followed them on tothe platform. I heard them ask for the Liver-pool train, and the guard answer that one hadjust gone and there would not be another forsome hours. Stangerson seemed to be put outat that, but Drebber was rather pleased thanotherwise. I got so close to them in the bus-tle that I could hear every word that passedbetween them. Drebber said that he had a lit-tle business of his own to do, and that if theother would wait for him he would soon rejoinhim. His companion remonstrated with him,and reminded him that they had resolved tostick together. Drebber answered that thematter was a delicate one, and that he must goalone. I could not catch what Stangerson saidto that, but the other burst out swearing, andreminded him that he was nothing more thanhis paid servant, and that he must not pre-sume to dictate to him. On that the Secretarygave it up as a bad job, and simply bargainedwith him that if he missed the last train heshould rejoin him at Halliday’s Private Hotel;to which Drebber answered that he would beback on the platform before eleven, and madehis way out of the station.

“The moment for which I had waited solong had at last come. I had my enemieswithin my power. Together they could protect


each other, but singly they were at my mercy.I did not act, however, with undue precipita-tion. My plans were already formed. Thereis no satisfaction in vengeance unless the of-fender has time to realize who it is that strikeshim, and why retribution has come upon him.I had my plans arranged by which I shouldhave the opportunity of making the man whohad wronged me understand that his old sinhad found him out. It chanced that some daysbefore a gentleman who had been engaged inlooking over some houses in the Brixton Roadhad dropped the key of one of them in mycarriage. It was claimed that same evening,and returned; but in the interval I had takena moulding of it, and had a duplicate con-structed. By means of this I had access to atleast one spot in this great city where I couldrely upon being free from interruption. Howto get Drebber to that house was the difficultproblem which I had now to solve.

“He walked down the road and went intoone or two liquor shops, staying for nearlyhalf-an-hour in the last of them. When hecame out he staggered in his walk, and wasevidently pretty well on. There was a han-som just in front of me, and he hailed it. I fol-lowed it so close that the nose of my horse waswithin a yard of his driver the whole way. Werattled across Waterloo Bridge and throughmiles of streets, until, to my astonishment, wefound ourselves back in the Terrace in which

CHAPTER VI 207

he had boarded. I could not imagine what hisintention was in returning there; but I wenton and pulled up my cab a hundred yards orso from the house. He entered it, and his han-som drove away. Give me a glass of water, ifyou please. My mouth gets dry with the talk-ing.”

I handed him the glass, and he drank itdown.

“That’s better,” he said. “Well, I waitedfor a quarter of an hour, or more, when sud-denly there came a noise like people strug-gling inside the house. Next moment the doorwas flung open and two men appeared, one ofwhom was Drebber, and the other was a youngchap whom I had never seen before. This fel-low had Drebber by the collar, and when theycame to the head of the steps he gave him ashove and a kick which sent him half acrossthe road. ‘You hound,’ he cried, shaking hisstick at him; ‘I’ll teach you to insult an hon-est girl!’ He was so hot that I think he wouldhave thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, onlythat the cur staggered away down the road asfast as his legs would carry him. He ran asfar as the corner, and then, seeing my cab, hehailed me and jumped in. ‘Drive me to Halli-day’s Private Hotel,’ said he.

“When I had him fairly inside my cab, myheart jumped so with joy that I feared lestat this last moment my aneurism might gowrong. I drove along slowly, weighing in my


own mind what it was best to do. I mighttake him right out into the country, and therein some deserted lane have my last interviewwith him. I had almost decided upon this,when he solved the problem for me. The crazefor drink had seized him again, and he or-dered me to pull up outside a gin palace. Hewent in, leaving word that I should wait forhim. There he remained until closing time,and when he came out he was so far gone thatI knew the game was in my own hands.

“Don’t imagine that I intended to kill himin cold blood. It would only have been rigidjustice if I had done so, but I could not bringmyself to do it. I had long determined thathe should have a show for his life if he choseto take advantage of it. Among the many bil-lets which I have filled in America during mywandering life, I was once janitor and sweeperout of the laboratory at York College. One daythe professor was lecturing on poisons, andhe showed his students some alkaloid, as hecalled it, which he had extracted from someSouth American arrow poison, and which wasso powerful that the least grain meant in-stant death. I spotted the bottle in which thispreparation was kept, and when they were allgone, I helped myself to a little of it. I was afairly good dispenser, so I worked this alkaloidinto small, soluble pills, and each pill I put ina box with a similar pill made without the poi-son. I determined at the time that when I had

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my chance, my gentlemen should each havea draw out of one of these boxes, while I atethe pill that remained. It would be quite asdeadly, and a good deal less noisy than firingacross a handkerchief. From that day I hadalways my pill boxes about with me, and thetime had now come when I was to use them.

“It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild,bleak night, blowing hard and raining in tor-rents. Dismal as it was outside, I was gladwithin—so glad that I could have shouted outfrom pure exultation. If any of you gentlemenhave ever pined for a thing, and longed for itduring twenty long years, and then suddenlyfound it within your reach, you would under-stand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at itto steady my nerves, but my hands were trem-bling, and my temples throbbing with excite-ment. As I drove, I could see old John Ferrierand sweet Lucy looking at me out of the dark-ness and smiling at me, just as plain as I seeyou all in this room. All the way they wereahead of me, one on each side of the horseuntil I pulled up at the house in the BrixtonRoad.

“There was not a soul to be seen, nor asound to be heard, except the dripping of therain. When I looked in at the window, I foundDrebber all huddled together in a drunkensleep. I shook him by the arm, ‘It’s time toget out,’ I said.

“‘All right, cabby,’ said he.


“I suppose he thought we had come to thehotel that he had mentioned, for he got outwithout another word, and followed me downthe garden. I had to walk beside him to keephim steady, for he was still a little top-heavy.When we came to the door, I opened it, and ledhim into the front room. I give you my wordthat all the way, the father and the daughterwere walking in front of us.

“‘It’s infernally dark,’ said he, stampingabout.

“‘We’ll soon have a light,’ I said, striking amatch and putting it to a wax candle which Ihad brought with me. ‘Now, Enoch Drebber,’I continued, turning to him, and holding thelight to my own face, ‘who am I?’

“He gazed at me with bleared, drunkeneyes for a moment, and then I saw a horrorspring up in them, and convulse his wholefeatures, which showed me that he knew me.He staggered back with a livid face, and Isaw the perspiration break out upon his brow,while his teeth chattered in his head. At thesight, I leaned my back against the door andlaughed loud and long. I had always knownthat vengeance would be sweet, but I hadnever hoped for the contentment of soul whichnow possessed me.

“‘You dog!’ I said; ‘I have hunted you fromSalt Lake City to St. Petersburg, and you havealways escaped me. Now, at last your wan-derings have come to an end, for either you

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“HE GAZED AT ME WITH BLEARED,DRUNKEN EYES FOR A MOMENT, AND THEN I

SAW A HORROR SPRING UP IN THEM, ANDCONVULSE HIS WHOLE FEATURES, WHICH

SHOWED ME THAT HE KNEW ME.”


or I shall never see to-morrow’s sun rise.’ Heshrunk still further away as I spoke, and Icould see on his face that he thought I wasmad. So I was for the time. The pulses inmy temples beat like sledge-hammers, and Ibelieve I would have had a fit of some sort ifthe blood had not gushed from my nose andrelieved me.

“‘What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?’ Icried, locking the door, and shaking the key inhis face. ‘Punishment has been slow in com-ing, but it has overtaken you at last.’ I sawhis coward lips tremble as I spoke. He wouldhave begged for his life, but he knew well thatit was useless.

“‘Would you murder me?’ he stammered.“‘There is no murder,’ I answered. ‘Who

talks of murdering a mad dog? What mercyhad you upon my poor darling, when youdragged her from her slaughtered father, andbore her away to your accursed and shamelessharem.’

“‘It was not I who killed her father,’ hecried.

“‘But it was you who broke her innocentheart,’ I shrieked, thrusting the box beforehim. ‘Let the high God judge between us.Choose and eat. There is death in one and lifein the other. I shall take what you leave. Letus see if there is justice upon the earth, or ifwe are ruled by chance.’

“He cowered away with wild cries and

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prayers for mercy, but I drew my knife andheld it to his throat until he had obeyed me.Then I swallowed the other, and we stood fac-ing one another in silence for a minute ormore, waiting to see which was to live andwhich was to die. Shall I ever forget the lookwhich came over his face when the first warn-ing pangs told him that the poison was in hissystem? I laughed as I saw it, and held Lucy’smarriage ring in front of his eyes. It was butfor a moment, for the action of the alkaloid israpid. A spasm of pain contorted his features;he threw his hands out in front of him, stag-gered, and then, with a hoarse cry, fell heavilyupon the floor. I turned him over with my foot,and placed my hand upon his heart. Therewas no movement. He was dead!

“The blood had been streaming from mynose, but I had taken no notice of it. I don’tknow what it was that put it into my headto write upon the wall with it. Perhaps itwas some mischievous idea of setting the po-lice upon a wrong track, for I felt light-heartedand cheerful. I remembered a German beingfound in New York with RACHE written upabove him, and it was argued at the time inthe newspapers that the secret societies musthave done it. I guessed that what puzzled theNew Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so Idipped my finger in my own blood and printedit on a convenient place on the wall. Then Iwalked down to my cab and found that there


was nobody about, and that the night was stillvery wild. I had driven some distance when Iput my hand into the pocket in which I usu-ally kept Lucy’s ring, and found that it wasnot there. I was thunderstruck at this, forit was the only memento that I had of her.Thinking that I might have dropped it when Istooped over Drebber’s body, I drove back, andleaving my cab in a side street, I went boldlyup to the house—for I was ready to dare any-thing rather than lose the ring. When I ar-rived there, I walked right into the arms ofa police-officer who was coming out, and onlymanaged to disarm his suspicions by pretend-ing to be hopelessly drunk.

“That was how Enoch Drebber came to hisend. All I had to do then was to do as muchfor Stangerson, and so pay off John Ferrier’sdebt. I knew that he was staying at Halliday’sPrivate Hotel, and I hung about all day, buthe never came out. I fancy that he suspectedsomething when Drebber failed to put in anappearance. He was cunning, was Stanger-son, and always on his guard. If he thoughthe could keep me off by staying indoors he wasvery much mistaken. I soon found out whichwas the window of his bedroom, and earlynext morning I took advantage of some lad-ders which were lying in the lane behind thehotel, and so made my way into his room inthe grey of the dawn. I woke him up and toldhim that the hour had come when he was to

CHAPTER VI 215

answer for the life he had taken so long before.I described Drebber’s death to him, and I gavehim the same choice of the poisoned pills. In-stead of grasping at the chance of safety whichthat offered him, he sprang from his bed andflew at my throat. In self-defence I stabbedhim to the heart. It would have been the samein any case, for Providence would never haveallowed his guilty hand to pick out anythingbut the poison.

“I have little more to say, and it’s as well,for I am about done up. I went on cabbing itfor a day or so, intending to keep at it until Icould save enough to take me back to Amer-ica. I was standing in the yard when a raggedyoungster asked if there was a cabby therecalled Jefferson Hope, and said that his cabwas wanted by a gentleman at 221B, BakerStreet. I went round, suspecting no harm, andthe next thing I knew, this young man herehad the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatlyshackled as ever I saw in my life. That’s thewhole of my story, gentlemen. You may con-sider me to be a murderer; but I hold that Iam just as much an officer of justice as youare.”

So thrilling had the man’s narrative been,and his manner was so impressive that wehad sat silent and absorbed. Even the profes-sional detectives, blasé as they were in everydetail of crime, appeared to be keenly inter-ested in the man’s story. When he finished we


sat for some minutes in a stillness which wasonly broken by the scratching of Lestrade’spencil as he gave the finishing touches to hisshorthand account.

“There is only one point on which Ishould like a little more information,” Sher-lock Holmes said at last. “Who was your ac-complice who came for the ring which I adver-tised?”

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely.“I can tell my own secrets,” he said, “but Idon’t get other people into trouble. I saw youradvertisement, and I thought it might be aplant, or it might be the ring which I wanted.My friend volunteered to go and see. I thinkyou’ll own he did it smartly.”

“Not a doubt of that,” said Holmes heartily.“Now, gentlemen,” the Inspector remarked

gravely, “the forms of the law must be com-plied with. On Thursday the prisoner will bebrought before the magistrates, and your at-tendance will be required. Until then I willbe responsible for him.” He rang the bell ashe spoke, and Jefferson Hope was led off by acouple of warders, while my friend and I madeour way out of the Station and took a cab backto Baker Street.

CHAPTER VII.THECONCLUSION.

We had all been warned to appear before themagistrates upon the Thursday; but when theThursday came there was no occasion for ourtestimony. A higher Judge had taken the mat-ter in hand, and Jefferson Hope had beensummoned before a tribunal where strict jus-tice would be meted out to him. On the verynight after his capture the aneurism burst,and he was found in the morning stretchedupon the floor of the cell, with a placid smileupon his face, as though he had been able inhis dying moments to look back upon a usefullife, and on work well done.

“Gregson and Lestrade will be wild abouthis death,” Holmes remarked, as we chattedit over next evening. “Where will their grandadvertisement be now?”

“I don’t see that they had very much to dowith his capture,” I answered.

217


“What you do in this world is a matter ofno consequence,” returned my companion, bit-terly. “The question is, what can you makepeople believe that you have done. Nevermind,” he continued, more brightly, after apause. “I would not have missed the investi-gation for anything. There has been no bet-ter case within my recollection. Simple asit was, there were several most instructivepoints about it.”

“Simple!” I ejaculated.“Well, really, it can hardly be described as

otherwise,” said Sherlock Holmes, smiling atmy surprise. “The proof of its intrinsic sim-plicity is, that without any help save a fewvery ordinary deductions I was able to lay myhand upon the criminal within three days.”

“That is true,” said I.“I have already explained to you that what

is out of the common is usually a guide ratherthan a hindrance. In solving a problem of thissort, the grand thing is to be able to reasonbackwards. That is a very useful accomplish-ment, and a very easy one, but people do notpractise it much. In the every-day affairs oflife it is more useful to reason forwards, andso the other comes to be neglected. There arefifty who can reason synthetically for one whocan reason analytically.”

“I confess,” said I, “that I do not quite fol-low you.”

“I hardly expected that you would. Let me

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see if I can make it clearer. Most people, ifyou describe a train of events to them, willtell you what the result would be. They canput those events together in their minds, andargue from them that something will come topass. There are few people, however, who, ifyou told them a result, would be able to evolvefrom their own inner consciousness what thesteps were which led up to that result. Thispower is what I mean when I talk of reason-ing backwards, or analytically.”

“I understand,” said I.“Now this was a case in which you were

given the result and had to find everythingelse for yourself. Now let me endeavour toshow you the different steps in my reason-ing. To begin at the beginning. I approachedthe house, as you know, on foot, and with mymind entirely free from all impressions. I nat-urally began by examining the roadway, andthere, as I have already explained to you, Isaw clearly the marks of a cab, which, I ascer-tained by inquiry, must have been there dur-ing the night. I satisfied myself that it wasa cab and not a private carriage by the nar-row gauge of the wheels. The ordinary Lon-don growler is considerably less wide than agentleman’s brougham.

“This was the first point gained. I thenwalked slowly down the garden path, whichhappened to be composed of a clay soil, pe-culiarly suitable for taking impressions. No


doubt it appeared to you to be a mere tram-pled line of slush, but to my trained eyes everymark upon its surface had a meaning. Thereis no branch of detective science which is soimportant and so much neglected as the artof tracing footsteps. Happily, I have alwayslaid great stress upon it, and much practicehas made it second nature to me. I saw theheavy footmarks of the constables, but I sawalso the track of the two men who had firstpassed through the garden. It was easy to tellthat they had been before the others, becausein places their marks had been entirely oblit-erated by the others coming upon the top ofthem. In this way my second link was formed,which told me that the nocturnal visitors weretwo in number, one remarkable for his height(as I calculated from the length of his stride),and the other fashionably dressed, to judgefrom the small and elegant impression left byhis boots.

“On entering the house this last inferencewas confirmed. My well-booted man lay be-fore me. The tall one, then, had done themurder, if murder there was. There was nowound upon the dead man’s person, but theagitated expression upon his face assured methat he had foreseen his fate before it cameupon him. Men who die from heart disease,or any sudden natural cause, never by anychance exhibit agitation upon their features.Having sniffed the dead man’s lips I detected

CHAPTER VII 221

a slightly sour smell, and I came to the conclu-sion that he had had poison forced upon him.Again, I argued that it had been forced uponhim from the hatred and fear expressed uponhis face. By the method of exclusion, I hadarrived at this result, for no other hypothesiswould meet the facts. Do not imagine that itwas a very unheard of idea. The forcible ad-ministration of poison is by no means a newthing in criminal annals. The cases of Dolskyin Odessa, and of Leturier in Montpellier, willoccur at once to any toxicologist.

“And now came the great question as tothe reason why. Robbery had not been theobject of the murder, for nothing was taken.Was it politics, then, or was it a woman? Thatwas the question which confronted me. I wasinclined from the first to the latter supposi-tion. Political assassins are only too glad todo their work and to fly. This murder had, onthe contrary, been done most deliberately, andthe perpetrator had left his tracks all over theroom, showing that he had been there all thetime. It must have been a private wrong, andnot a political one, which called for such a me-thodical revenge. When the inscription wasdiscovered upon the wall I was more inclinedthan ever to my opinion. The thing was tooevidently a blind. When the ring was found,however, it settled the question. Clearly themurderer had used it to remind his victim ofsome dead or absent woman. It was at this


point that I asked Gregson whether he hadenquired in his telegram to Cleveland as toany particular point in Mr. Drebber’s formercareer. He answered, you remember, in thenegative.

“I then proceeded to make a careful exami-nation of the room, which confirmed me in myopinion as to the murderer’s height, and fur-nished me with the additional details as to theTrichinopoly cigar and the length of his nails.I had already come to the conclusion, sincethere were no signs of a struggle, that theblood which covered the floor had burst fromthe murderer’s nose in his excitement. I couldperceive that the track of blood coincided withthe track of his feet. It is seldom that anyman, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks outin this way through emotion, so I hazardedthe opinion that the criminal was probably arobust and ruddy-faced man. Events provedthat I had judged correctly.

“Having left the house, I proceeded to dowhat Gregson had neglected. I telegraphed tothe head of the police at Cleveland, limitingmy enquiry to the circumstances connectedwith the marriage of Enoch Drebber. The an-swer was conclusive. It told me that Drebberhad already applied for the protection of thelaw against an old rival in love, named Jef-ferson Hope, and that this same Hope was atpresent in Europe. I knew now that I held theclue to the mystery in my hand, and all that

CHAPTER VII 223

remained was to secure the murderer.“I had already determined in my own mind

that the man who had walked into the housewith Drebber, was none other than the manwho had driven the cab. The marks in theroad showed me that the horse had wanderedon in a way which would have been impos-sible had there been anyone in charge of it.Where, then, could the driver be, unless hewere inside the house? Again, it is absurd tosuppose that any sane man would carry outa deliberate crime under the very eyes, as itwere, of a third person, who was sure to be-tray him. Lastly, supposing one man wishedto dog another through London, what bettermeans could he adopt than to turn cabdriver.All these considerations led me to the irre-sistible conclusion that Jefferson Hope was tobe found among the jarveys of the Metropolis.

“If he had been one there was no reasonto believe that he had ceased to be. On thecontrary, from his point of view, any suddenchance would be likely to draw attention tohimself. He would, probably, for a time atleast, continue to perform his duties. Therewas no reason to suppose that he was go-ing under an assumed name. Why shouldhe change his name in a country where noone knew his original one? I therefore or-ganized my Street Arab detective corps, andsent them systematically to every cab pro-prietor in London until they ferreted out the


man that I wanted. How well they succeeded,and how quickly I took advantage of it, arestill fresh in your recollection. The murderof Stangerson was an incident which was en-tirely unexpected, but which could hardly inany case have been prevented. Through it, asyou know, I came into possession of the pills,the existence of which I had already surmised.You see the whole thing is a chain of logical se-quences without a break or flaw.”

“It is wonderful!” I cried. “Your meritsshould be publicly recognized. You shouldpublish an account of the case. If you won’t,I will for you.”

“You may do what you like, Doctor,” he an-swered. “See here!” he continued, handing apaper over to me, “look at this!”

It was the Echo for the day, and the para-graph to which he pointed was devoted to thecase in question.

“The public,” it said, “have lost a sensa-tional treat through the sudden death of theman Hope, who was suspected of the mur-der of Mr. Enoch Drebber and of Mr. JosephStangerson. The details of the case will prob-ably be never known now, though we are in-formed upon good authority that the crimewas the result of an old standing and roman-tic feud, in which love and Mormonism borea part. It seems that both the victims be-longed, in their younger days, to the LatterDay Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner,

CHAPTER VII 225

hails also from Salt Lake City. If the casehas had no other effect, it, at least, bringsout in the most striking manner the efficiencyof our detective police force, and will serveas a lesson to all foreigners that they will dowisely to settle their feuds at home, and notto carry them on to British soil. It is an opensecret that the credit of this smart capturebelongs entirely to the well-known ScotlandYard officials, Messrs. Lestrade and Greg-son. The man was apprehended, it appears,in the rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes,who has himself, as an amateur, shown sometalent in the detective line, and who, withsuch instructors, may hope in time to attain tosome degree of their skill. It is expected thata testimonial of some sort will be presented tothe two officers as a fitting recognition of theirservices.”

“Didn’t I tell you so when we started?”cried Sherlock Holmes with a laugh. “That’sthe result of all our Study in Scarlet: to getthem a testimonial!”

“Never mind,” I answered, “I have all thefacts in my journal, and the public shall knowthem. In the meantime you must make your-self contented by the consciousness of success,like the Roman miser—

“‘Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudoIpse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.”’


“DIDN’T I TELL YOU SO WHEN WESTARTED?” CRIED SHERLOCK HOLMES

WITH A LAUGH.

a study in scarlet6 a study in scarlet was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of...

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