 2 After the episode of the Florentine Dagger, Hagar lost her high spirits. She had sent used us away to make his fortune and to discover if possible the lost heir of Jacob Dix. By this act of self-denial, as it really was, she had deprived herself of all pleasure. She had robbed herself of what might have been a bright future. Consequently, she was less cheerful than of your. Nevertheless, she felt convinced that Lorne loved her and that he would earn her gratitude, possibly her hand, by returning with Goliath at his heels. When that event took place, she would recover at once her spirits and her lover, but at present the business of the pawn shop took up her undivided attention and forced her to put away sad pots and melancholy considerations. Also, Providence provided distraction for her dismal humours by sending her a negrus to pawn a necklace of amber beads. Although Hagar did not know it at the time, this was the beginning of a second and rather more serious adventure. It was drawing tonight, one August evening, when the woman made her appearance, and the atmosphere of the shop was darker than usual. Still it was sufficiently light for Hagar to see that her customer was a tall and bulky negrus arrayed in a gaudy yellow dress, neutralized by trimmings of black jet beading. As the evening was hot and close, she wore neither cloak nor jacket, but displayed her somewhat shapeless figure to the full in this decidedly startling costume. Her hat was a garden of roses, red, white, and yellow, and she wore a large silver brooch like a shield, an extensive necklace of silver coins, and many bangles of the same metal on her black wrists. As a contrast to these splendors, she wore no gloves, nor did she hide her cold black face with a veil. All together this odd customer was the blackest and most fantastically dressed negrus that Hagar had ever seen, and in the dim light she looked a striking, but rather alarming figure. On Hagar coming to the counter this black woman produced out of a silver clasp, seal-skin satchel, a necklace, which she handed silently to Hagar for inspection. As the light was too imperfect to admit of a close examination, Hagar lighted the gas, but when it flamed up the negrus as though unwilling to be seen too clearly in the searching glare, stepped back hastily into the darkness. Hagar put this retrograde movement down to the natural timidity of a person unaccustomed to pawning, and took but little notice of it at the time. Afterwards she had caused to remember it. The necklace was a string of magnificent amber beads threaded on a slender chain of gold. Each bead was as large as the egg of a sparrow, and round the middle of each single one there was a narrow belt of tiny diamonds. The clasp at the back was a fine gold square in shape and curiously wrought to the representation of a hideous Ethiopian face with diamonds for eyes. This queer piece of jewelry was unique of its kind, and as Hagar rapidly calculated, of considerable value. Nevertheless, she offered, according to custom, as low a sum as she well could. I'll give five pounds on it, she said, returning to the counter. Rather to her surprise the negrus accepted with a sharp nod, and then took out of her bag a scrap of paper. On this was written laboriously, Rosa Marlabone Road. The name and address were so imperfect that Hagar hesitated before making out the pawn ticket. Have you no other name but Rosa? She asked sharply. The negrus shook her head and kept well in the shadow. And no more particular address than Marlabone Road? Again, the black woman made a negative sign. Where at? Annoyed by these gestures, Hagar grew angered. Can't you speak? She demanded tartly. Are you dumb? At once the negrus nodded and laid a finger on her lips. Hagar drew back. This woman was black. She was dumb. She gave half a name, half an address, and she wished to pawn a valuable and unique piece of jewelry. The whole affair was queer, and as Hagar considered, might be rather dangerous. Perhaps this silent negrus was disposing of stolen goods, as the necklace seemed too fine for her to possess. For the moment Hagar was inclined to refuse to do business, but a glance at the amber beads decided her to make the bargain. She could get it cheap. She was acting well within the legal limits of business. And if the police did appear in the matter, no blame could be attached to her for the transaction. Biased by these considerations, Hagar made out the ticket in the name of Rosa and took a clean, new, five-pound note out of the cash box. As she was about to give ticket and money across the counter, she paused. I'll take the number of this note, she thought, going to the desk. If this negrus can't be traced by name or address, the bank note number will find her if it is necessary. Deeming this precaution judicious, Hagar hastily scribbled down the number of the five-pound note, and returning to the counter gave it and the ticket to her queer customer. The negrus stretched out her right hand for them, and then Hagar made a discovery, which she noted mentally as a mark of identification if necessary. However, she said nothing, but tried to get a good look at the woman's face. The customer, however, kept well in the shadow, and swept note and ticket into her bag, hurriedly, and she bowed and left the shop. Six days later, Hagar received a printed notice from New Scotland Yard, notifying to all pawnbrokers that the police were in search of a necklace of amber beads set with diamonds and clasped with a negro's face wrought in gold. Notice of its whereabouts was to be sent to the detective department without delay. Remembering her suspicions and recalling the persistent way in which the negrus had averted her face, Hagar was not much surprised by this communication. Curious to know the truth, and to learn what crime might be attached to the necklace, she wrote at once about the matter. Within four hours a stranger presented himself to see the amber beads, and to question her concerning the woman who had pawned the same. He was a fat little man, with a healthy red face and shrewd twinkling eyes, introducing himself as Luke Horval of the detective service. He asked Hagar to relate the circumstances of the pawning. This the girl did frankly enough, but without communicating her own suspicions. At the conclusion of her narrative she displayed the amber beads which were carefully examined by Mr. Horval. Then he slapped his knee and whistled in a thoughtful sort of way. I guessed as much, said he, staring hard at Hagar. The negrus did it. Did what asked the girl curiously? Why, said Horval, murdered the old woman. Murder! The word had a gruesome and cruel sound which caused Hagar's cheek to pale when it rang in her ears. She had connected the amber beads with robbery, but scarcely with the taking of life. The idea that she had been in the company of a murderess gave Hagar a qualm. But suppressing this as a weakness she asked Horval to tell her the details of the crime and how it bore on the pawning of the amber beads. It's just this way, Miss, explained the detective easily. This Rosa is the nigger girl of Mrs. Ariford. Is Rosa her real name? Oh, yes, I suppose she thought she might lose the beads if she gave a wrong one. But the address ain't right. It's the other end of London, as Mrs. Ariford lives. Or rather, lived, added Horval, correcting himself, seeing she now occupies a pencil-green grave camped in Hill. Miss, a sweet little house in Bedford Gardens where she lived with Rosa and Miss Lyle. And who is Miss Lyle, the companion of Mrs. Ariford? A dry stick of a spinster, Miss, not to be compared with a fine girl like you. Hagar did not deign to notice the compliment, but sharply requested Mr. Horval to continue his story, which he did in no wise abashed by her cold demeanor. It's just this way, Miss, said he again. The old lady, the old maid and the nigger wench, lived together in Bedford Gardens, a kind of happy family, as one might say. Mrs. Ariford was the whitter of a West Indian gent, and as rich as Solomon, she brought those amber beads from Jamaica, and Rosa was always wanting them. Why? The necklace was very unsuitable to one of her condition. It wasn't exactly the cost of it, as she thought about, said Horval, nursing his chin. But it seems that the necklace is a fetish, or charm, or lucky penny, as you might say, to bring good fortune to the wearer. Mrs. Ariford was past wanting good luck, so had no need for the beads. Rosa asked her for them, just for the good luck of them, as you might say. The old girl wouldn't part, as she was as superstitious as Rosa herself over that necklace. So in the end Rosa murdered her to get it. How do you know she did, asked Hagar doubtfully. How do I know, echoed the detective in surprise? Because I ain't a fool, Miss. Last week Mrs. Ariford was found in her bed with a carving knight in her heart, as dead as a doornail. And the beads were missing, Miss Lyle. She didn't know anything about it, and Rosa swore she hadn't left her room. So you see, we couldn't quite hit on who finished off Mrs. Ariford. But now, as I know Rosa pawned these beads, I'm sure she did the job. What made you think that the beads might have been pawned? Oh, that was Miss Lyle's idea. A sharp old girl she is, Miss. She was very fond of Mrs. Ariford, as she might well be, seeing as the old lady was rich and kept her like a princess. Often she heard Rosa ask for those beads. So when Mrs. Ariford was killed, and the beads missing, she told me, as she was sure, Rosa had done the trick. But the paunting, well, Miss, said horrible, scratching his chin. It was just this way. Miss Lyle said as how Rosa, to get rid of the necklace until the affair of the murder was blown over, might pawn it. I thought so, too, so I sent a printed slip to all the pop shops in London. You wrote that the beads were here, so it seems that Miss Lyle was right. Evidently. By the way, who gets the money of Mrs. Ariford? A Mr. Frederick Jevons. He's a nephew of Miss Lyle's. A nephew of Miss Lyle's, echoed Hagar in surprise. And why did Mrs. Ariford leave her money to him, instead of to her relatives? Well, it's just this way, Miss, said horrible, rising. She hasn't got no relatives. And as Mr. Jevons was a good-looking young chap, always at the house to see his aunt, she took a fancy to him and left the money his way. You're sure that Miss Lyle is no relation to Miss Ariford? Quite sure. She was only the old girl's companion. Was Mrs. Ariford weak in the head? Not as I ever heard of, said Mr. Horval, with a stare. But you can find out if you like from Miss Lyle. Miss Lyle, how am I to see her? Why, said the detective, clapping on his hat, when you come to see a Rosa is the same nigger as pawned the Amber Beads. Just leave someone to look after the shop, Miss, and come with me, right away. With true feminine curiosity, Hagar agreed at once to accompany the detective to Camden Hill. The shop was delivered into the charge of Bulkar, a misshapen imp of 16, who for some months had been the plague of Hagar's life. He had a long body and long arms, short legs and a short temper, and also a most malignant eye which indicated only too truly his spiteful nature. Having given a few instructions to this charming lad, Hagar departed with Horval in the omnibus and arrived at Bedford Gardens early in the afternoon. A house was a quaint pretty cottage which stood in a delightful garden, once the soulless of poor dead Mrs. Ariford's soul, and was divided from the road by a tall fence of iron railings, closed in with wooden planks, painted a dark green. A room into which the detective and gypsy were shown was a prim and rather cozy apartment which bore the impress of Miss Lyle's old maid-ism in the disposition of the furniture. When they were seated here and were waiting for Miss Lyle, who had been advised of their arrival, Hagar suddenly asked Horval a leading question. Is Rosa dumb, she demanded? Bless you, no, answered Horval. It's true as she don't talk much, but she can use her tongue in nigger fashion. Why do you ask? She said she was dumb when she pawned the beads. Oh, that was because she was too cute to let her voice betray her, replied Horval, smiling. He had humor enough to note Hagar's unconscious bull, but as she was likely to be useful to him in the conduct of the case he did not wish to anger her by remarking on it. When Miss Lyle made her appearance, Hagar, after the manner of women, took immediate note of her looks and manner, the old maid was tall and lean and yellow, with cold gray eyes and a thin-lipped, hard-tempered mouth turned down at the curves. Her iron-gray hair was drawn tightly off her narrow forehead and screwed into a hard-looking knob behind. She wore a black stuffed gown, somber and lusterless, collaring cuffs of white linen and cloth slippers in which she glided noiselessly. Altogether an unpromising, hard woman, assiduated and narrow-minded, who looked disapprovingly on the rich beauty of Hagar, and remarked her graces with a jaundiced eye and a vinaigre look. The cough with which she ended her inspection showed that she condemned the girl at first sight. Is this young person necessary to your conduct of the case? said Miss Lyle, addressing herself to Horval, and ignoring Hagar altogether. Why, yes, Miss, replied Horval, on whom the antagonistic attitude of the two women was not lost. She keeps the pawn shop at which rose a pawn to the beads. Miss Lyle gave a start of virtuous horror, and her thin lips wreathed in a viporous smile. The wretch did kill my poor friend, then. She said in a soft and flirty voice. I knew it. She pawned the amber beads, Miss Lyle, but—now don't say the wretch didn't kill my martyred friend, snapped Miss Lyle, going to the bell-rope. But we'll have her in, and perhaps this young person will recognize her as the viper who pawned the beads. It is to be hoped so, said Hagar, very dryly, not approving of being spoken at, in the third person. But the negris kept her face turned away, and I might not. It is your duty to recognize her, exclaimed Miss Lyle, addressing herself to the girl for once. I am convinced that Rosa is a dangerous criminal. Here she is, the black Jezebel. As the last word fell from her mouth, the door opened, and Rosa entered the room, whereat Hagar uttered an exclamation of surprise. This negris was rather short, and more than a trifle stout. It is true that she wore a yellow dress, trimmed with black jet beading, that silver ornaments were on her neck and wrists, also that she was without the wonderful hat. Still Hagar was surprised and explained her ejaculation forthwith. That is not the woman who pawned the beads, she declared, rising. Not the woman echoed Miss Lyle virulently. She must be. This is Rosa. Jeze, Jeze, I Rosa, said the negris, beginning to weep. But I no kill my poo, dear Missy, that one big lie. Are you sure, Miss, that this is not the woman, asked Horval Robertus Maid? Hagar stepped forward, and looked sharply at the sobbing negris, up and down, and she glanced at the woman's hands, and shook her head. I am prepared to swear in a court of law that this is not the woman, she said quietly. Rubbish, rubbish, cried Miss Lyle, flushing. Rosa coveted the negris, as it was connected with some debased African superstition, and it won ol' fetish, interrupted Rosa, her eyes sparkling fire at the old Maid. An old Missy, she did wish to give it me. But you know let her, certainly not, said Miss Lyle, with dignity. The necklace was not fit for you to wear, and because I persuaded Mrs. Araford not to give it to you, you murdered her, you wretch. Down on your knees, woman, and confess. I know Fess, exclaimed the terrified negris. I know kill my Missy. I know give dose amber beads for money. If dose beads mine, I keep them. They a mighty big fetish, for sure. One moment, said Horvall, as Miss Lyle was about to speak again. Let us conduct this inquiry calmly, and give the accused every chance. Miss, she said, turning to Hagar. On what day, at what time, was it that the beads were pawned? They are calculated rapidly and answered promptly. On the evening of the twenty-third of August, between six and seven o'clock, I exclaimed Miss Lyle joyfully, and on that very evening Rosa was out and did not return till nine. Me went to see Massa Jevons for you, said Rosa vehemently. You send me. I send you. Just listen to the creature's lies. Miss Jevons' rooms are in Duke Street, St. James, whereas it was at Lambeth you were. I know go to that Jevons' house. You send me to detrain Waterloo. Waterloo said Horvall, looking sharply at Rosa. You were there? Yes, Massa. Me dear, at seven and eight, in the neighborhood of Lambeth, murmured Horvall. She might have gone to the pawn shop after all. Of course she did, cried Miss Lyle, vindictively, and pawned the amber beads of my poor dear friend. She did nothing of the sort interposed Hagar with spirit. Whosoever pawned the beads, it was not this woman. Besides, how do you know that Rosa killed Mrs. Areford? She wanted the beads, young woman, and she killed my friend, to obtain them. Oh no, that one big lie! I am sure it is, said Hagar, her face aflame. I believe in your innocence, Rosa. Mr. Horvall, she added, turning to the detective. You can't arrest this woman, as you have no grounds to do so. Well if she didn't pawn those beads, she did not, I tell you. She did, cried Miss Lyle angrily. I believe you are an accomplice of the creatures. What reply Hagar would have made to this accusation? It is impossible to say, for at this moment a young man walked into the room. He was good looking in appearance and smart in dress, but there was a haggard look about his face which betokened dissipation. This, said Miss Lyle, introducing him, is my nephew, the heir to the property of my late dear friend. He is resolved, as such heir, to find out and punish the assassin of his benefactress. For my part I believe Rosa to be guilty, and I, cried Hagar with energy, believe her to be innocent. Let us hope she is, said Jevons, in a weary voice as he removed his gloves. I am tired of the whole affair. You are bound to punish the guilty, said Miss Lyle, in hard tones. But not the innocent, retorted Hagar, rising. Young woman, you are insolent. Hagar looked Miss Lyle up and down in the coolest manner, and her eyes wandered to the well-dressed figure of Jevons, the heir. What she saw in him to startle her, it is difficult to say. But after a moment's inspection she turned pale with suppressed emotion. Going forward she was about to speak, when checking herself, suddenly she beckoned to Horval and advanced towards the door. My errand here is fulfilled, she said quietly. Mr. Horval, perhaps you will come with me. Yes, and you can go also, Rosa, cried Miss Lyle, angered by the insulting gaze of the girl. I am mistress here, in my nephew's house, and I refuse to let a murderous remain under its roof. Be content, said Hagar, pausing at the door. Rosa shall come with me, and when you see us again with Mr. Horval, you will then learn who killed Mrs. Arreford and why. Insolent hussy muttered Miss Lyle, and closed the door on Hagar, Horval, and the black woman. The trio walked away, and shortly afterwards picked up an omnibus, in which they returned to the Lambe Pawn Shop. Hagar talked earnestly to Horval the whole way, and from the close attention which the detective paid to her, it would seem that the conversation was of the deepest interest. Rosa, a dejected heap of misery, sat with downcast eyes, and at intervals wiped away the tears which ran down her black cheeks. The poor niggress, under suspicion as a thief and a murderous, turned out of house and home. Desolate and forsaken was crushed to the earth under the burden of her woes. On her the fetish necklace of amber beads had brought a curse. On arriving at the shop, Hagar conducted Rosa into the back parlor, and after a further conference she dismissed the detective. You can stay with me for a week, she said to Rosa, and then what you do. Oh! said Hagar, with an agreeable smile. I shall take you with me to denounce the assassin of your late mistress. All that week Rosa stayed in the domestic portion of the Pawn Shop, and made herself useful in cooking and cleaning. Hagar questioned her closely concerning the events which had taken place on the night of the murder in the house at Bedford Gardens, and elicited certain information which gave her great satisfaction. This she communicated to Horval when he one day paid her a hurried visit. When in possession of the facts Horval looked at her with admiration, and on taking his leave he paid her a compliment. You ought to be a man with that head of yours. He said, You're too good to be a woman, and not bad enough to be a man retorted Hagar laughing. Be off with you, Mr. Horval, and let me know when you want me up west. In four more days Horval again made his appearance, this time in a state of the greatest excitement. He was closeted with Hagar for over an hour, and at its conclusion he departed in a great hurry. Early afternoon Hagar resigned the shop into Bulkar's charge, put on hat and cloak, and ordered Rosa to come with her. What the reason of this unexpected departure might be, she did not inform the Negris immediately. But before they reached their destination Rosa knew all, and was much rejoiced there at. Hagar took Rosa as far as Duke Street, St. James, and here, at the door of a certain house, they found the detective impatiently waiting for them. Well Mr. Horval said Hagar coming to a stop. Is he indoors? Safe and sound replied Horval, tapping his breastcoat pocket. And I have got you know what here. Shall we come up? Not immediately. I wish to see him by myself, first. You remain outside his door and enter with Rosa when I call you. Mr. Horval nodded, with a full comprehension of what was required of him, and the trio ascended the dark staircase. They paused at a door on the second landing, then Hagar motioning to her companions that they should withdraw themselves into the gloom, wrapped lightly on the portal. Shortly afterwards it was opened by Mr. Frederick Jevons, who looked inquiringly at Hagar. She turned her face towards the light which fell through the murky staircase window, whereat recognizing her, he stepped back in dismay. The pawn-shop girl, he said in astonishment, what do you want? I wish to see you replied Hagar compositely, but it is just as well that our conversation should be in private. Why you can have nothing to say to me but what the whole world might hear. After I have mentioned the object of my visit you may think differently, said Hagar, with some dryness. However we'll talk here if you wish. No, no, come in, said Jevons, standing on one side. Since you insist upon privacy you shall have it. This way. She showed her into a large and rather badly furnished room. Evidently Mr. Fred Jevons had not been rich until he inherited the fortune of Mrs. Araford. I suppose you will be moving to the Bedford Gardens house soon, said Hagar, sitting compositely in a large arm-chair. Is that what you came to speak to me about? Retorted Jevons rudely? Not exactly. Perhaps as you are impatient. We had better get to business. Business? What business can I have to do with you? Why, said Hagar, quietly, and looking directly at him, the business of those amber beads which you pawned. I, stammered Jevons, drawing back with a pale face, also added Hagar solemnly. The business which concerns the commission of a crime. A—a—a—a crime, gasped the wretched creature. Yes, the most terrible of all crimes. Murder! What? What—what do you—you mean? Hagar rose from her chair and, drawn to her full height, stretched out an accusing arm towards the young man. What I mean, you know well enough, she said sternly. I mean that you murdered Mrs. Araford. It's a lie, cried Jevons, sinking into a chair, for his legs refused to support him longer. It is not a lie. It is the truth. I have evidence. Evidence, he started up with dry and trembling lips. Yes, through her influence over Mrs. Araford, your aunt induced her to make you her heir. You are fond of money. You are in debt. And you could not wait until the old lady died in the course of nature. On the night of the murder, you were in the house. No, no, I swear. You need not. You were seen leaving the house. To throw suspicion on Rosa, you disguised yourself as a niggress, and came to pawn the amber bead necklace at my shop. I recognized that the supposed black woman was minus the little finger of the right hand. You, Mr. Jevons, are mutilated in the same way. Again I paid you with a five-pound note. Of that note I took the number. It has been traced by the number, and you are the man who paid it away. I saw Jevons jumped up, still white and shaking. It's a lie. A lie, he said hoarsely. I did not kill Mrs. Araford. I did not pawn the beads. I did. You did both those things, said Hagar, brushing past him. I have two witnesses who can prove what I say is true. Rosa, Mr. Horval. She flung the outside door wide open, while Jevons, again, sank into the arm-chair, with an expression of horror on his white face. Rosa, Horval, he muttered, I am lost. Rosa and the detective entered quickly in response to Hagar's call, and with her looked down on the shrinking figure of the accused man. These are my witnesses, said Hagar slowly. Rosa, I saw that man in the house when my Missy died, said the Negris. I hear noise in the night. I come down, and I see Massa Jevons run away from the room of my Missy. And Mrs. Lyle let him out by the side door. He killed my poor Missy. Yes, I tinked that. You hear, said Hagar, to the terrified man. Now, Mr. Horval, I traced the five-pound note you gave me by its number, said the detective. Yes, he paid it away. At his club I can bring a waiter to prove it. You hear, said Hagar again, and I know by the evidence of your lost finger that you are the man disguised as a Negris, who pawned the necklace which was stolen from the person of Mrs. Ariford after you murdered her. The dead woman, as Rosa tells us, wore that necklace night and day, only with her death could it have been removed. You murdered her. You stole the necklace of Amber beads. Jevon leaped up. No, no, no, he cried loudly, striking his hands together in despair. I am innocent. That, said Horval, slipping the handcuffs on his wrists, you shall prove before a judge and jury. When Jevons, still protesting his innocence, was removed to prison, Hagar and the Negris returned to Carby's Crescent. It can easily be guessed how she had traced the crime home to Jevons. She had noticed that the Negris who pawned the beads had no little finger. On being brought face to face with Rosa she had seen that the woman had not lost the finger, and when Jevons had removed his gloves she had seen in his right hand the evidence that he was one with the mysterious black woman of the pawn-shop. Still she was not certain, and it was only when Rosa had deposed to the presence of the man at midnight in the Bedford Garden's house, and when Horval had traced the five-pound note of which she had taken the number that she was certain that Jevons was the murderer. That's the accusation, hence the arrest. But now the fact of his guilt was clearly established. To obtain the wealth of Mrs. Arreford the wretched man had committed a crime. To hide that crime and throw the blame on Rosa he had pawned the amber beads, and now the amber beads were about to hang him. In the moment of his triumph, when preparing to enjoy the fruits of his crime, Nemesis had struck him down. The news of the arrest, the story of the amber beads, was in all the papers next day, and next day also Miss Lyle came to see Hagar. Pale and stern she swept into the shop and looked at Hagar with a bitter smile. Girl, she said harshly, you have been our evil genius. I have been the means of denouncing your accomplice, you mean, returned Hagar compositely. My accomplice, no, my son. Your son, Hagar recoiled with a startled expression. Your son, Miss Lyle? Not Miss, but Mrs. Lyle, returned the gaunt, pale woman. And Frederick Jevons is my son, by my first husband. You think he is guilty. You are wrong, for he is innocent. You believe that you will hang him. But I tell you, girl, he will go free. Read this paper. She said, thrusting an envelope into the hand of Hagar, and you will see how you have been mistaken. I shall never see you again in this life, but I leave my curse on you. Before Hagar could collect her wits, Miss or rather Mrs. Lyle, as she called herself, went hurriedly out of the shop. Her manner was so wild, her words so ominous of evil, that Hagar had it on her mind to follow her, and if possible prevent the consequences of her despair. She hurried to the door, but Mrs. Lyle had disappeared, and as there was no one to mind the shop, Hagar could not go after her. Luckily at this moment Horval turned the corner, and at once the girl beckoned to him. Miss Lyle, did you see her? Yes, said Horval with a nod. She's on her way across Westminster Bridge. Oh, follow her. Follow her quickly, cried Hagar wildly. She is not herself. She is bent on some rash deed. Horval paused a moment in bewilderment. Then, grasping the situation, he turned without a word and raced down the street in the trail of Miss Lyle. Hagar watched his hurrying figure until it turned the corner, and she retreated to the back parlor, and hurriedly opened the envelope. On the sheet of paper she found within, the following confession was written. I am not a spinster, but a widow, began the document abruptly. A twice-married woman. By my first husband I had Frederick Jevons, who passes as my nephew, and whom I love better than my own soul. When my second husband, Mr. Lyle, died, I cast about for some means of employment. As I was poor, Mrs. Araford advertised for an unmarried woman as a companion. She absolutely refused to have any companion but a spinster. To get the situation, which was a good one, as Mrs. Araford was rich, I called myself Miss Lyle and obtained the place. Mrs. Araford had no relatives and much money, so I schemed to obtain her wealth for my son, whom I introduced as my nephew. Rosa the Black Maid had a great deal of influence over her weak-minded mistress, and in some way I don't know how. She fathomed my purpose. It was a battle between us, as Rosa was determined that I should not get the money of Mrs. Araford for my son. Finally I triumphed, and Frederick was left sole heir of all the old ladies' wealth. Then Rosa learned by eavesdropping the true relationship between myself and Frederick. She told her mistress, and with Mrs. Araford I had a stormy scene in which she declared her intention of revoking her will and turning me and my son out on the world as paupers. I begged, I implored, I threatened. But Mrs. Araford, backed up by that wicked Rosa, was firm. I sent for my son to try and soften the old lady. But he was not in town, and did not come to see me till late at night. When he arrived I told him that I had killed Mrs. Araford. I did so to prevent her altering her will, and out of love for my dear son lest he should lose the money. Frederick was horrified and rushed from the house. I believed Rosa saw me let him out by the side door. I was determined to throw the blame on Rosa, as I hated her so. Knowing that she coveted the necklace of amber beads, I stole it from the neck of the dead woman and gave it to my son next day. I suggested that he should dress up as Rosa and pawn the necklace, so that she might be suspected. To save me he did so. I obtained a dress that Rosa was fond of wearing, yellow silk trimmed with black beads, also the jewelry of the creature. Frederick blackened his face and pawned the beads in a pawn shop at Lambe. I sent Rosa on a pretended errand to Waterloo Station at the time Frederick was pawning the beads, so as to get evidence against her that she was in the neighborhood. Then I suggested to Horvall the detective that the beads might have been pawned. He found the shop, and I thought my plot had succeeded, that Rosa would be condemned and hanged. Unfortunately, the woman who kept the pawn shop was clever and traced Frederick by means of his mutilated right hand. I hate her. Frederick is now in prison on a charge of murder, which he did not commit. I am guilty. I killed Mrs. Arreford. Frederick knows nothing. He helped me to save myself by trying to throw the blame on Rosa. All useless. I am guilty, and I am determined that he shall not suffer for my sin. Officers of the law, I command you to release my son and arrest me. I am the murderess of Mrs. Arreford. I swear it. Julia Lyle. Witnesses. Amelia Tyke. Housemaid. Mark Drew. Butler. Hagar let the document fall from her hands with a sensation of pity for the wretched woman, how she must love her son thought the girl to have murdered a kind and good woman. For his sake, it is terrible. Well, I suppose he will now be released. And will enter into possession of the wealth his mother schemed to obtain for him. But he must do justice to Rosa for all the trouble he has caused her. He must give her an annuity and also the necklace of amber beads, which has been the cause of tracing the crime home to its doer. As for Mrs. Lyle, at this moment, white and breathless, Horval rushed into the parlor. Hagar sprang to her feet and looked anxiously at him, expecting to bad news. She was right. My girl cried Horval horsely. Mrs. Lyle is dead. Dead. Ah, said Hagar to herself. I thought as much. She threw herself over Westminster Bridge and has just been picked out of the water. Dead. Dead, said Hagar again. Dead. As a doornail, replied the detective in a perplexed tone. But why? Why did she commit suicide? Hagar sighed and in silence handed to the detective the confession of the dead woman. End of the second customer and the amber beads. The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist by Sir Arthur Kernandoyle. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Simon Evers. The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist by Sir Arthur Kernandoyle. From the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a very busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of any difficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, and there were hundreds of private cases, some of the most intricate and extraordinary character in which he played a prominent part. Many startling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome of this long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notes of all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them, it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should select to lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule and give the preference to those cases which derive their interests not so much from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before the reader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation which culminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstance did not admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which my friend was famous. But there were some points about the case which made it stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather the material for these little narratives. On referring to my notebook for the year 1895, I find that it was upon a Saturday the 23rd of April that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a very obstruc and complicated problem concerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, the well-known tobacco millenia, had been subjected. My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yet, without a harshness which was foreign to his nature, it was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall, graceful and equitably, who presented herself at Baker Street late in the evening, and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge her that his time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat, and to inform us what it was that was troubling her. At least it cannot be your health, said he, as his keen eyes darted over her. So ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy. She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slight ruffling of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal. Yes, I bicycled a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to do with my visit to you today. My friend took the lady's unloved hand and examined it with as close an attention as in as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen. You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, as he dropped it. I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe the spatula at finger-end's Watson, which is common to both presser-fressions. There is a spinid duality about the face, however. She gently turned it towards the light, which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician. Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music. In the country, I presume, from your complexion? Yes, sir, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey. A beautiful neighbourhood, and full of the most interesting associations. You remember Watson that it was near there that we took Archie Stamford the forger. Now, Ms. Valet, what has happened to you near Farnham on the borders of Surrey? The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement. My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith's, who conducted the orchestra in the Old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from him since. When father died, we were left very poor. But one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the Times inquiring for our whereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he had died some months before in great poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last breath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. It seems strange to us that uncle Ralph, who took note and notice of us when he was alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead. But Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that the my uncle had just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for our fate. Excuse me, said Holmes, when was this interview? Last December, four months ago. Proceed. Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was forever making eyes at me, a coarse, puffy-faced, red moustache young man, with his hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought he was perfectly hateful, and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to know such a person. Oh, Cyril is his name, said Holmes, smiling. The young lady blushed and laughed. Yes, Mr. Holmes, Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how did I get talking about him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person, but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left, and on finding that we were very poor, he suggested that I should come and teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go home to her every weekend, and he offered me a hundred a year which was certainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went down to Children's Grange about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had engaged a lady housekeeper, a very respectable elderly person called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The child was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Every weekend I went home to my mother in time. The first floor, if by happiness, was the arrival of the red moustache Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and, oh, it seemed three months to me. He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I could have the finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner, he was hideously strong, and swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came in and tore him from me, on which he turned upon his own house, knocking him down and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day and assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley since. And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which has caused me to ask your advice today. You must know that every Saturday, 4 noon, I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station in order to get to the 12, 22 to town. The road from Chilton Grange is a lonely one, and at one spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between Charlington Heath upon one side, and the woods which lie around Charlington Hall upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high road near Crookesbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was passing this place when I chanced to look back over my shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man with a short, dark beard. I looked back before I reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But you could imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes, when, on my return on the Monday, I saw the same man on the same stretch of road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again exactly as before on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kept his distance, and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse-and-trap, so that in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without some companion. The horse-and-trap were to have come this week, but for some reason they were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station. That was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came to Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was the man exactly as you had been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. Today I was not alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then I did a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and I peddled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. I expected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop, but he never appeared. Then I went back and looked around the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the more extraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he could have gone. Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. This case certainly brings some features of its own. Said he, how much time elapsed between your turning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear? Two or three minutes. Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that there were no side roads? None. Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other. It could not have been on the side of the heath, or I should have seen him. So by the process of exclusion, we arrive at the fact that he made his way towards Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in its own grounds on one side of the road. Anything else? Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt I should not be happy until I had seen you and had your advice. Holmes sat in silence for some little time. Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged? He asked at last. He is in the Midland Electrical Company at Coventry. He would not pay you a surprise visit? Oh, Mr. Holmes, as if I should not know him. Have you had any other Amaras? Several before I knew Cyril. And since there was this dreadful man Woodley, if you could call him an Amara. No one else? Our fair client seemed a little confused. Who was he? asked Holmes. It may be a mere fancy of mine, but it seemed to me sometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me. We are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in the evenings. He's never said anything. He's a perfect gentleman. But a girl always knows. Holmes looked aggrieved. What does he do for a living? He's a rich man. No carriages or horses? Well, at least he is fairly well to do, but he goes into the city two or three times a week. He is deeply interested in South African gold shares. You would let me know any fresh development, Mr. Smith. I'm very busy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case. In the meantime, take no step without letting me know. Goodbye, and I trust that we shall have nothing but good news from you. It is part of the settled order of nature that such a girl should have followers, said Holmes, as he pooled at his meditative pipe, but for choice not on bicycles on lonely country roads. Some secreted lover beyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about the case Watson. That he should appear only at that point? Exactly. Our first effort must be to find out who are the tenants of Charlington Hall. Then again, how about the connection between Carruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a different type? How come they both to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One more point. What sort of a menage is it which pays double the market price for a governess which does not keep a horse, although six miles from the station? Odd Watson. Very odd. You will go down? No, my dear fellow. You will go down. This may be some trifling intrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham. You will conceal yourself in Heath. You will observe the fact for yourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then having inquired us to the occupants of the hall, you will come back to me and report. And now Watson, not another word of the matter, until we have a few solid stepping-stones on which may be a hope to get across to our solution. We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Monday by the train which leaves Waterloo at 9.50. So I started early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in being directed to Charlington Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the young lady's adventure, for the road runs between the open Heath on one side and an old U-Hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studied with magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of like-and-studied stone, each side-pillar surmounted by a mouldering heleraldic emblems. But besides this central carriage-drive I observed several points where there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. The house was invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay. The Heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one of these lumps I took up my position, so as to command both the gateway of the hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had been deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from my view. A court of an hour passed, and then a second a cyclist appeared. This time it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her look about her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the man emerged from his hiding place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behind her bending low over his handlebar with a curiously furtific suggestion in every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He at once stopped, too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him. He was as quick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not daining to take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from my sight. I remained in my hiding place, and it was well that I did so, for presently the man reappeared as cycling slowly back. He turned in at the hall gates, and dismounted from his machine. For some minutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands were raised, and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive towards the hall. I ran across the heath, and peered through the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling tutor-chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of the man. However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house agent could come in nothing about Charlington Hall, and refer me to a well-known firm in Palmale. There I halted on my way home and met with courtesy from the representative. No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable, elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss. Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual, as he commented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not. Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should have been behind the hench, and then you would have had a close view of this interesting person. As it is, you were some hundreds of yards away and could tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know the man. I am convinced she does. Why otherwise should he be so desperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see his features? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealment, again, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns to the house and you want to find out who he is. You come to a London house-agent. What should I have done? I cried with some heat. Gone to the nearest public house. That is the centre of country gossip. They would have told you every name from the master of the scullery made. Williamson? He conveys nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly man, he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that young lady's athletic pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition? The knowledge of the girl's story is true. I never doubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist and the hall? I never doubted that, either. That the hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two morning queries myself. Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith recounting, shortly and accurately, the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the letter lay in the post-script. I'm sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become difficult, only to the fact that my employer has proposed a marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honorable. At the same time my promise is, of course, given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained. Now, young friend seems to be getting into deep waters, said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. The case suddenly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet peaceful day in the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I have formed. Holmes' quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland yard infestigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them. I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat, said he. You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. Today, for example, I should have come to very ignominious grief without it. I begged him to tell me what had occurred. I found that country pub which I had already recommended to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is a white bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the hall. There is some rumour that he is, or has been, a clergyman. But why not to incidents of his short residence at the halls struck me as peculiarly uneatlesiastical? I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there was a man at that name in orders whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord further informed me that there are usually weekend visitors. A warm lot, sir, at the hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We got as far as this when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the tap-room, and had heard the whole conversation. Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that however enjoyable, my day on the sorry border has not been much more profitable than your own. The Thursday brought us another letter from our client. You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes, said she, to hear that I am leaving Mr. Carruthers' employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to town, and I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there were any dangers, are now over. As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident, and he is much disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk of Mr. Carruthers who seemed much frightened afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here. Yet I caught a glimpse of her again this morning, slinking about in the shrubbery. I would soon have a savage wild animal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a treacher for a moment? However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday. So I trust Watson, so I trust," said Holmes gravely. There is some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson, that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning and make sure that this curious and inclusive investigation has no untoward ending. I confess that I have not up to now taken a very serious view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he has so little audacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he is not a very formidable assailant. The Raffian Woodley was a very different person, but except on one occasion he had not molested our client, and now he visited the House of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those weekend parties of the hall of which the public had spoken, but who he was or what he wanted was not. It was the severity of Holmes' manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver in his pocket before leaving our rooms, which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events. A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the heath-covered countryside with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and drabs and slate grays of London. In the morning road, inhaling the fresh morning air and rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder of Crookesbury Hill we could see the grim hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks, which old as they were, were still younger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the long track of road, which wound a reddish grey, a black dot. We could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of impatience. I have given a margin of half an hour, said he, if that is her trap she must be making for the earlier train. I fear Watson that she will be past Charlington for what we can possibly meet her. From the instant that we pass the rise we could no longer see the vehicle, but Holmes, however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed, until suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant an empty dog cart, the horse cantering the rain's training, appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us. Too late, Watson, too late! Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It's abduction, Watson! Abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right! Now jump in and let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder. We had sprung into the dog cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. As we turned the curve, the whole stretch of road between the hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes' arm. Then I gasped. A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down, and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessed onto the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine. That cold black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us and at the dog cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face. Hello! Stop there! he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road. Where did you get that dog cart? Pull up, man! he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. Pull up, I say, or by George I'll put a bullet into your horse. Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart. You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Varlott Smith? he said in his quick, clear way. That's what you're in her dog cart. You ought to know where she is. We met the dog cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove back to help the young lady. Good Lord, good Lord, what should I do? cried the stranger in an ecstasy of despair. They've got her that hellhound woodly in the blackened parson. Come, man, calm if you really are a friend. Stand, my being, we'll save her if I have to leave my carcass in charlington wood. The woman and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road, followed Holmes. This is where they came through, said he, pointed to the marks of several feet upon the muddy path. Hello, stop a minute, what was this in the bush? It was a young fellow about seventeen dressed like an osla with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up so that it had not penetrated the bone. Ah, that's Peter the Groom, cried the stranger. He drove her. The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie, we can't do him any good, we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman. We ran frantically down the path which wound among the trees. We reached the shrubbery which was round at the house as he spoke. A woman's shrill scream, a scream which vibrated with a frenzy of horror, burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle. This way, this way, they're in the bowling alley, cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. Other cowardly dogs, follow me gentlemen, too late, are in the ancient trees. On the far far side of it, under the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, artlante, drooping, and faint to haggard she frowned her mouth. Opposite stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red mustache young man, his gated legs parted wide, one arm man, wearing a short surplus over a light-tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we approached and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation. They're married, I gasped. Come on, crowd-eyed guide, come on! He rushed across the blade, homes and eye at his heels. As we approached him to us with mock-politeness, and the bully, woodly, advanced with a shout of brutal and exalted laughter. You could take your beard off, Bob," said he, I know you right enough. Well, you and your powers have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley. Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard which had raised his revolver and covered the young ruffian who was advancing upon him with his dangerous riding-crop swinging in his hand. Yes, said our ally, I am Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this woman righted if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if you beleted her, and by the Lord I'll be as good as my word. You're too late. She's my wife. No, she's one round with a scream and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The old man, still clad in his surplus, burst into such a string of fowl oaths as I've never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own. But before he could raise it he was looking down the barrel of Holmes' weapon. Enough of this, said my friend Coldy. You, caravans, give me that revolver. You will have no more violence. Come, hand it over. Who are you, then? My name is Sherlock Holmes. Good Lord! You've heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until their arrival. Here, you. He shouted to a frightened groom who'd appeared at the edge of the blade. Come here. I'll retain you all under my personal custody. The strong masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williams and Caravans found themselves carrying the wounded woodley into the house and I gave my arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed and at Holmes' request I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat the prisoners before him. He will live, said I. What? cried Caravans, springing out of his chair. I'll go upstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to roaring Jack Woodley for life? You need not concern yourself about that, said Holmes. There are two very good reasons why she should, under no circumstances be his wife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning whether I have been ordained, cried the old rascal, and also unfrocked. Once a clergyman, always a clergyman. I think not. How about the license? We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket. Then you got it by a trick. But in any case, a forced marriage is no marriage. But it is a very serious felony as you will discover before you have finished. You will have time to think you could others. You would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket. I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes, but when I thought of all the precaution I had taken to shield this girl, for I loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was. It fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in South Africa, a man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley to Johannesburg. I, Mr. Holmes, had never been in my employment. I never once let her go past this house where I knew the rascals were lurking without following her on my bicycle just to see that she came to do harm. I kept my distance from her and I wore a beard so that she should not recognize me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had faced that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house and to hear the sound of her voice. Well, said I, you call that love, Mr. Brothers, but I should call it selfishness. Maybe the two things go together. Anyway, I couldn't let her go. Besides with this crown to make a move. What cable? Corathus took a telegram from his pocket. That's it, said he. He was short and concise. The old man is dead. Hmm, said Holmes. I think I see how things worked and I can understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. But while you wait you might tell me what you can. The old reprobate with the surplus burst into a volley of bad language. My heaven, said he. If you squeal on as Bob Brothers, I'll serve you as you serve Jack Woodley. You complete about the girl to your heart's content, for that's your own affair. But if you round on your pals to this plain-clothes copper, it would be the worst work, day's work that you ever did. Your reverence need not be curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your telling me, I'll do the talking and then you will see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place three of you came from South Africa on this gain, you, Williamson, you, Carothers, and Woodley. Line number one, said the old man, I never saw Ivory them until two months ago and I've never been in Africa in my life. So you can what he says is true, said Carothers. Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own homemade article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa you had reason to believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would inherit his fortune. How's that, eh? Carothers nodded and Williamson swore. She was next of kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow took her others. So you came over the two of you and hunted up the girl. The idea was that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of the plunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen to the husband. Why was that? We played cards for her on the voyage and he won. I see. You got the young lady into your service and there Woodley was to do the courting. She recognized the drunken brute that he was and would have by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian earning her. Nor by George I couldn't. There was a quarrel between you. He left you at a rage and began to take his own plans independently of you. It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this gentleman. Criker others will a bitter laugh. Yes, we quarrelled and he knocked me down. I'm level with him on that anyhow. There was sight of him. That was when he picked up with this outcast pardry here. I found that they'd set up housekeeping together at this place on the line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from time to time for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days ago Woodley came up to my house with this cable which showed that Ralph Smith was dead. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a share. I said I would willingly do so but that she would not have me. He said let us get her married first and after a week or two she may see things a bit different. I said I would have nothing to do with violence. So he went off cursing like the foul man or the black one that he was and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this weekend she got a start however and before I could catch her the mischief was done. The first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart. Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. I had been very obtuse Watson said he when in your report you said that you had seen the cyclists as you thought arrange his neck tie in the shrubbery that alone should have told me some respects a unique case. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive and I'm glad to see that the little Osler is able to keep pace with them so it is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think Watson that in your medical capacity you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her that if she is sufficiently recovered we should be happy to escort her to her mother's home. I think that a graft to a young electrician in the Midlands will probably complete the cure. As to you Mr. Grothers I think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. That is my card sir and if my evidence can be of help in your trial it shall be at your disposal in the world of our incessant activity each case has been the prelude to another and the crisis once over the actors have passed forever out of our busy lives. I find however a short note at the end of my manuscript dealing with this case in which I have put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton the senior partner of Morton and Kennedy the famous Westminster electricians. Morton and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault the former getting seven years and the latter ten. At the fate of Carruthers I have no record but I am sure that its assault was not viewed very gravely by the court since Woodley had the reputation of being a most dangerous ruffianer and I think that a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice. End