 CHAPTER III. OF THE MEMORIES OF SHERLOCK HOMES. by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. ADVENTURE III. THE STOCKBROKERS CLERK. Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time an excellent general practice, but his age, and an affliction of the nature of St. Vetus's dance from which he suffered, had very much thinned it. The public not unnaturally goes on the principle that he who would heal others must himself be whole, and looks a scant at the curative powers of the man whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as my predecessor weakened his practice declined, until when I purchased it from him had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three hundred a year. I had confidence, however, in my own youth and energy, and was convinced that in a very few years the concern would be as flourishing as ever. For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very closely at work and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I was too busy to visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere himself save upon professional business. I was surprised, therefore, when one morning in June as I sat reading the British Medical Journal after breakfast I heard a ring at the bell followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old companion's voice. Ah, my dear Watson said he striding into the room. I'm very delighted to see you. I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered from all the little excitement connected with our adventure of the sign of four. Thank you, we are both very well, said I, shaking him warmly by the hand. And I hope also he continued sitting down in the rocking chair, that the cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated the interest which you used to take in our little deductive problems. On the contrary, I answered, it was only last night that I was looking over my old notes and classifying some of our past results. I trust that you don't consider your collection closed. Not at all, I should wish nothing better than to have some more of such experiences. Today, for example? Yes, today, if you like. And as far off as Birmingham? Only if you wish it. And the practice? I do my neighbors when he goes. He's always ready to work off the debt. Ha, nothing could be better, said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and looking keenly at me from under his half-closed lids. I perceive you have been unwell lately. Summer colds are always a little trying. I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last week. I thought, however, that I had cast off every trace of it. Though you have, you look remarkably robust. How then did you know of it? My dear fellow, you know my methods. You deduced it, then. Certainly. And from what? From your slippers. I glanced down at the new patent leathers which I was wearing. How on earth, I began, but Holmes answered my question before it was asked. Your slippers are new, he said. You could not have had them more than a few weeks. The soles, which you are at this moment presenting to me, are slightly scorched. For a moment I thought they might have got wet and been burned in the drying, but near the instep there is a small circular wafer of paper with the shopman's hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would, of course, have removed this. You have then been sitting with your feet outstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so wet a dune as this if he were in his full health. Like all Holmes' reasoning, the thing seemed simplicity itself when it was once explained. He read the thought upon my features, and his smile had a tinge of bitterness. I'm afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain, said he. Results without causes are much more impressive. You are ready to come to Birmingham, then? Certainly. What is the case? You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in a four-wheeler. Can you come at once? In an instant. I scribbled a note to my neighbour, rushed upstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the doorstep. Your neighbour is a doctor, said he, nodding at the brass plate. Yes, he bought a practice as I did. An old established one. Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houses were built. Ah, then you got hold of the best of the two. I think I did, but how do you know? By the steps, my boy, yours are worn three inches deeper than his, but this gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Piecroft. Allow me to introduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabbie, for we have only just time to catch our train. The man whom I found myself facing was a well-built, fresh-complexioned young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight, crisp yellow mustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a neat suit of sober black, which made him look what he was. A smart young city man of the class who have been labelled cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer regiments and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than anybody of men in these islands. His round, ruddy face was naturally full of cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled down in a half-comical distress. It was not, however, until we were all in a first-class carriage and well started upon our journey to Birmingham that I was able to learn what the trouble was which had driven him to Sherlock Holmes. We have a clear run here of seventy minutes, Holmes remarked. I want you, Mr. Paul Piecroft, to tell my friend your very interesting experience, exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail if possible. It will be of use to me to hear the succession of events again. It is a case Watson which may prove to have something in it, or may prove to have nothing, but which at least presents those unusual and utre features which are as dear to you as they are to me. Now Mr. Piecroft, I shall not interrupt you again. Our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. The worst of the story is, said he, that I show myself up as such a confounding fool. Of course it may work out alright, and I don't see that I could have done otherwise, but if I lost my crib and get nothing in exchange, I shall feel what a soft journey I've been. I'm not very good at telling a story, Dr. Watson, but it's locked this with me. I used to have a billet at coxswain and woodhouses, of draper's gardens, but they were let in early in the spring through the Venezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. I'd been with them five years, and all coxswain gave me a ripping good testimonial when the smash came, but of course weak clerks were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of us. I tried a year and tried there, but there were lots of other chaps from the same layers myself, and it was a perfect floss for a long time. I've been taking three pounds a week at coxswain's, and I'd save about seventy of them, but I soon worked my way through that, and out of the other end. I was fairly at the end of my tether at last, and could hardly find the stamps to answer the advertisements or the envelopes to stick them to. I'd worn out my boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemed just as far from getting a billet as ever. At last, I saw a vacancy at Morson in Williams, the great stockbroker firm in Lombard Street. I dare say EC is not much in your line, but I can tell you that this is about the richest house in London. The advertisement was to be answered by letter only. I sent him a testimonial and application, but without the least hope of getting it. Back came an answer by return, saying that if I would appear next Monday, I might take over my new duties at once, provided that my appearance was satisfactory. No one knows how these things are worked. Some people say that a manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes the first that comes. Anyhow, it was my innings that time, and I don't ever wish to feel better pleased. The screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties just about the same as at Coxons. And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in Diggin's Art Hamstered Way, 17 Potless Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing a smoke that very evening after I had been promised the appointment, when up came my landlady with a card which had Arthur Pinna, financial agent, printed upon it. I'd never heard the name before and could not imagine what he wanted with me, but of course, I asked her to show him up. And he walked a middle-sized, dark-haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man with a touch of sheening about his nose. He had a brisk kind of way with him and spoke sharply like a man who knew the value of time. Mr. Hall Piecroft, I believe, said he. Yes, sir, I answered, pushing a chair towards him. Lately engaged at Coxons in Woodhouse's. Yes, sir. I know all the staff at Mawson's. Quite so. Well, said he, the fact is that I've heard some really extraordinary stories about your financial ability. You remember Parker, who used to be Coxons' manager. He could never say enough about it. Of course, I was pleased to hear this. I'd always been pretty sharp in the office, but I'd never dreamed that I was talked about in the city in this fashion. You have a good memory, said he. Pretty fair, I answered modestly. Have you kept in touch with the market while you've been out of work? He asked. Yes, I read the stock exchange list every morning. Now that shows real application, he cried. That is the way to prosper. You won't mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. How are our air shoes? A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and seven eights. A New Zealand consolidated. A hundred and four. And British Broken Heels. Seven to seven and six. Wonderful, he cried with his hands up. This quite fits in with all that I've heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be a clerk at Mawson's. This outburst rather astonished me as you can think. Well, said I, other people don't quite think so much of me as you seem to do, Mr. Pinner. I had a hot enough fight to get this berth, and I'm very glad to have it. Pooh, man, you should soar above it. You are not in your true sphere. Now, I'll tell you how it stands with me. What I have to offer is little enough when measured by your ability, but when compared with Mawson's, it's light to dark. Let me see. When do you go to Mawson's? On Monday. Haha, I think I would rise a little sport and flatter that you don't go there at all. Not go to Mawson's? No, sir. By the day you will be the business manager of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company Limited, with a hundred and thirty-four branches in the towns and villages of France, not counting one in Brussels and one in San Remo. This took me breath away. I'd never heard of it, said I. Very likely not. It's been kept very quiet for the capitol was all privately subscribed and it's too good a thing to let the public into. My brother Harry Pinner is promoter and joins the board after allotment as managing director. He knew I was in the swim down there and asked me to pick up a good man, cheap, a young pushing man with a plenty of snap about him. Parker spoke of you and that brought me here tonight. We can only offer you a beggarly five hundred to start with. Five hundred a year, I shouted. Only that at the beginning, but you ought to have an overriding commission of one percent on all business done by your agents. I knew might take my word for it that this will come to more than your salary. But I know nothing about hardware. Tap my boy, you know about figures. My head buzzed and I could hardly sit still in my chair, but suddenly a little chill of doubt came upon me. I must be frank with you, said I. Morson only gives me two hundred, but Morson is safe. Now really, I know so little about your company that, ah, smart, smart, he cried in a kind of ecstasy of delight. You're the very man for us. You're not to be talked over and quite right, too. Now here's a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we can do business, you may slip it in your pocket as an advance upon your salary. That is very handsome, said I. When should I take over my new duties? Be in Birmingham tomorrow at one, said he. I have a note in my pocket here, which you will take to my brother. You will find him at 126 B Corporation Street, where the temporary offices of the company are situated. Of course, he must confirm your engagement, but between ourselves it will be all right. Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner, said I. Not at all, my boy. You've only got your desserts. There are one or two small things mere formalities which I must arrange with you. You have a bit of paper beside you there. Currently right upon it, I am perfectly willing to act as business manager to the Franco Midland Hardware Company Limited at a minimum salary of five hundred pounds. I did as he asked and he put the paper in his pocket. There is one detail, Sahib. What do you intend to do about Mawson's? I've forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy. I'll write and resign, said I. Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a row over you with Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and he was very offensive, accused me of coaxing you away from the services of the firm, and that sort of thing. Alas, the fairly lost my temper. If you want good man, you should pay him a good price, said I. He would rather have our small price than your big one, said he. I'll lay you a fiver, said I, that when he has me offer you'll never so much as hear from him again. Done, said he. We picked him out of the gutter and he won't leave us so easily. Those were his very words. The impudent scoundrel I cried. I've never so much as seen him in my life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly not write if you would rather I didn't. Good, that's a promise, said he, rising from his chair. Well, I'm delighted to have got so good a man from my brother. Here's your advance of £100, and here is the letter. Make a note of the address, 126B Corporation Street, and remember that one o'clock tomorrow is your appointment. Good night, and may you have all the fortune that you deserve. That's just about all that pass between us, as near as I can remember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at such an extraordinary but a good fortune. I sat up half the night, hugging myself over it, and next day I was off to Birmingham in a train that would take me in plenty of time for my appointment. I took my things to a hotel in New Street, and then I made my way to the address which I'd been giving me. It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought that would make no difference. 126B was a passage between two large shops, which led to a winding stone stair from which there were many flats, led his offices to companies or professional men. The names of the occupants were painted at the bottom of the wall, but there was no such name as the Franco Midland Hardware Company Limited. I stood for a few minutes with my heart in my boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and addressed me. He was very like the chap I'd seen the night before, the same figurine voice, but he was clean shaven, and his hair was lighter. Are you Mr. Hall Piecroft, he asked? Yes, he said. Oh, I was expecting you, but you were a trifle before your time. I denote from my brother this morning, in which he sang your praises very loudly. I was just looking for the offices when you came. We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured these temporary premises last week. Come up with me, and we will talk the matter over. I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there right under the slates were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeded and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought of a great office, with shining tables and rows of clerks such as I was used to, and I dare say I stared rather straight at the two deal chairs in one little table, which, with a ledger and a waste paper basket, made up the whole furniture. Don't be just hard on Mr. Piecroft, said my new acquaintance, seeing the length of my face. Rome was not built in a day, and we have lots of money at our backs, though we don't cut much dash yet in offices. Pray sit down and let me have your letter. I gave it to him, and read it over very carefully. You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother Arthur, said he, and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. He swears by London, you know, and I by Birmingham, but this time I shall follow his advice. Pray consider yourself definitely engaged. What are my duties? I asked. You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will pour a flood of English crockery into the shops of 134 agents in France. The purchase will be completed in a week, and meanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make yourself useful. How? For answer he took a big red book out of a drawer. This is a directory of Paris, said he, with the trades after the names of the people. I want you to take it home with you, and to mark off all the hardware sellers with their addresses. It would be of the greatest use to me to have them. Surely there are classified lists, I suggested. Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at it, and let me have the list by Monday at 12. Good day, Mr. Piecroft. If you continue to show zeal and intelligence, you'll find the company a good master. I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and with very conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I was definitely engaged and had £100 in my pocket. On the other, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the wall, and other of the points which would strike a businessman had left a bad impression as to the position of my employers. However, come what might, I have my money, so I settled down to my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by Monday I had only got as far as H. I went round to my employer, found him in the same dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it until Wednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday I was still unfinished, so I hammered away until Friday, that is yesterday, then I brought it round to Mr. Harry Pinner. Thank you very much, said he. I feel that I underrated the difficulty of the task. This list will be of very material assistance to me. It took some time, said I. And now, said he, I want you to make a list of the furniture shops, for they all sell crockery. Very good. And you can come up tomorrow evening at seven and let me know how you're getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A couple of hours at day's music hall in the evening would do you no harm after your labours. He laughed as he spoke, and I saw with a frill, that his second tooth upon the left hand side had been very badly stuffed with gold. Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared with astonishment at our client. You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson, but it is this way, said he. When I was speaking to the other chap in London, at the time that he laughed that might not go into Mawson's, I happened to notice that his tooth was stuffed in this very identical fashion. The glint of the gold in each case caught my eye, you see. When I put that with the voice and figure being the same, and only those things altered which might be changed by a razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man. Of course you expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should have the same tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I found myself in the street hardly knowing whether I was on my head or my heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water, and tried to think it out. Why had he sent me from London to Birmingham? Why had he got there before me? And why had he written a letter from himself to himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I could make no sense of it. And then it suddenly struck me that what was dark to me might be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up to town by the night train to see him this morning, and to bring you both back with me to Birmingham. There was a pause after the stockbroker's clerk had concluded his surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage. Rather fine, Watson, is it not? said he. There are points in it which please me. I think that you will agree with me that an interview with Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco Midland Hardware Company Limited would be a rather interesting experience for both of us. But how can we do it? I asked. Oh, easily enough, said Hall Piecroft cheerily. You were two friends of mine who were in want of a billet and what could be more natural than that Arthur bring you both round to the managing director. Quite so, of course, said Holmes. I should like to have a look at the gentleman and see if I can make anything of his little game. What qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services so valuable? Or is it possible that he began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from him until we were in New Street? At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down Corporation Street to the company's offices. It's no use out being at all before our time, said our client. He only comes there to see me, apparently for the place is deserted up to the very hour he names. That is suggestive from our Holmes. But, Joe, I told you so, cried the clerk. Let's see you walking ahead of us there. He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling along the other side of the road. As we watched him, he looked across at a boy who was balling out the latest edition of the Evening Paper, and running over among the cabs and buses, he bought one from him. Then clutching it in his hand, he vanished through a doorway. There he goes, cried Hall Piecroft. These are the company's offices into which he is gone. Come with me and I'll fix it up as easily as possible. Following his lead, we ascended five stories until we found ourselves outside a half-open door, at which our client tapped. A voice within made us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room such as Hall Piecroft had described. At the single table sat the man whom we had seen in the street, with his Evening Paper spread out in front of him, and as he looked up at us, it seemed to me that I had never looked upon a face, which bore such marks of grief, and of something beyond grief, of a horror such as comes to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened with perspiration. His cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fish's belly, and his eyes were wild and staring. He looked at his clerk, as though he failed to recognize him, and I could see by the astonishment depicted upon our conductor's face that this was by no means the usual appearance of his employer. You look ill, Mr. Pina, he exclaimed. Yes, I am not very well, answered the other, making obvious efforts to pull himself together, and licking his dry lips before he spoke. Who are these gentlemen whom you have brought with you? One is Mr. Harris of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price of this town, said our clerk, glibly. They are friends of mine and gentlemen of experience, but they have been out of a place for some little time, and they hope that perhaps you might find an opening for them in the company's employment. Very possibly, very possibly, cried Mr. Pina with a ghastly smile. Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something for you. What is your particular line, Mr. Harris? I'm an accountant, said Holmes. I ask we shall want something of the sort, and you, Mr. Price? A clerk, said I. I have every hope that the company may accommodate you. I will let you know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion, and now I beg that you will go for God's sake leave me to myself. These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint which he was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burst asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall Piecroft took a step towards the table. You forget, Mr. Pina, that I am here by appointment to receive some directions from you, said he. Certainly, Mr. Piecroft, certainly, the other resumed in a calmer tone. You may wait here a moment, and there is no reason why your friends should not wait with you. I will be entirely at your service in three minutes, if I might trespass upon your patience so far. He rose with a very courteous air, and bowing to us he passed out through a door at the farther end of the room, which he closed behind him. What now, whispered Holmes, is he giving us the slip? Impossible, answered Piecroft. Why so? That door leads into an inner room. There is no exit? None. Is it furnished? It was empty yesterday. Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don't understand in this manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with terror, that man's name is Pina. What can I put the shivers on him? He suspects that we are detectives, I suggested. That seat, cried Piecroft. Holmes shook his head. He did not turn pale. He was pale when we entered the rooms, said he. It is just possible that— His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of the inner door. What do you think he is knocking at his own doorful? cried the clerk. Again, and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly at the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid, and he leaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a low, guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang frantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on the inner side. Following his example we threw ourselves upon it with all our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the door with a crash. Brushing over it we found ourselves in the inner room. It was empty. But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one corner, the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second door. Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat were lying on the floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the managing director of the Franco Midland Hardware Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made the noise which had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I had caught him around the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Piecroft untied the elastic bands, which had disappeared between the livid creases of skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he lay with a clay-colored face, puffing his purple lips in and out with every breath, a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutes before. What do you think of him, Watson? asked Holmes. I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball beneath. It has been touch and go with him, said I, but he live now. Just open that window and hand me the water-caraff. I undid his collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms until he drew a long natural breath. It's only a question of time now, said I, as I turned away from him. Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trousers' pockets, and his chin upon his breast. I suppose we ought to call the police in now, said he, and yet I confess that I'd like to give them a complete case when they come. It's a blessed mystery to me, cried Piecroft, scratching his head. Whatever they want it to bring me all the way up here for, and then— Poo! All that is clear enough, said Holmes impatiently. It is this last sudden move. You understand the rest, then? I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson? I shrugged my shoulders. I must confess that I am out of my depths, said I. Oh, surely if you consider the events at first they can only point to one conclusion. What do you make of them? Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points, the first is the making of Piecroft write a declaration by which he entered the service of this preposterous company. Do you not see how very suggestive that is? I'm afraid I miss the point. Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business matter, for these arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly business reason why this should be an exception. Don't you see, my young friend, that they were very anxious to obtain a specimen of your handwriting, and had no other way of doing it? And why? Quite so, why? When we answered that we have made some progress with our little problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason. Someone wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had to procure a specimen of it first. And now, if we pass on to the second point, we find that each throws light upon the other. That point is the request made by Pinner that you should not resign your place, but should leave the manager of this important business in the full expectation that a Mr. Hall Piecroft, whom he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon the Monday morning. My god, cried our client, what a blonde beetle I've been! Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that someone turned up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from that in which you had applied for the vacancy. Of course, the game would have been up, but in the interval the rogue had learned to imitate you, and his position was therefore secure, and I presume that nobody in the office has ever set eyes upon you. Not a soul, groaned Hall Piecroft. Very good. Of course, it was of the utmost importance to prevent you from thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into contact with anyone who might tell you that your double was at work in Mawson's office. Therefore, they gave you a handsome advance on your salary, and ran you off to the Midlands where they gave you enough work to do to prevent your going to London, where you might have burst their little game up. That is all plain enough. But why should this man pretend to be his own brother? Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only two of them in it. The other is impersonating you at the office. This one acted as your engager, and then found that he could not find you an employer without admitting a third person into his plot. That he was most unwilling to do. He changed his appearance as far as he could, and trusted that the likeness which you could not fail to observe would be put down to a family resemblance. But for the happy chance of the gold stuffing, your suspicions would probably never have been aroused. Hall Piecroft shook his clinched hands in the air. Good Lord, he cried. While I've been fooled in this way, what has this other Hall Piecroft been doing at Mawson's? What should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to do. We must wire to Mawson's. They shot you twelve on Saturdays. Never mind. There may be some doorkeeper or attendant. Ah, yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value of the securities that they hold. I remember hearing it talked of in the city. Very good. We shall wire to him and see if all is well, and if a clerk of your name is working there. That is clear enough, but what is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should instantly walk out of the room and hang himself. The paper croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting up, blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and hands which rubbed nervously at the broad red band which still encircled his throat. The paper, of course, yelled Holmes in a paroxysm of excitement. Idiot that I was, I thought so much of our visit that the paper never entered my head for an instant. To be sure, the secret must be there. He flattened it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst from his lips. Look at this, Watson, he cried. It is a London paper, an early edition of The Evening Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines. Crime in the city. Murder at Mawson and Williams. Gigantic attempt in robbery. Capture of the criminal. Here, Watson, we are all equally anxious to hear it, so kindly read it aloud to us. It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event of importance in town, and the account of it ran in this way. A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man and the capture of the criminal occurred this afternoon in the city. For some time back, Mawson and Williams, the famous financial house, have been the guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of considerably over a million sterling. So conscious was the manager of the responsibility, which devolved upon him in consequence of the great interests at stake that safes of the very latest construction have been employed, and an armed watchman has been left day and night in the building. It appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Piecroft was engaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none other than Bedington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had only recently emerged from a five-year spell of penal servitude. By some means which are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning under a false name this official position in the office, which he utilized in order to obtain molding of various locks and a thorough knowledge of the position of the strongroom and the safes. It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on Saturday. Sergeant Tucson of the city police was somewhat surprised, therefore, to see a gentleman with a carpet bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed the man and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at once clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount of script in mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. On examining the premises, the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not have been discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of Sergeant Tucson. The man's skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from behind. There could be no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having murdered the watchman rapidly rifled the large safe and then made off with his booty. His brother, who usually works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can at present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts. Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction, said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window. Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a villain and murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Piecroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the police. END OF ADVENTURE III. THE STOCKBROAKER'S CLERK CHAPTER IV. THE GLORIASCOT I have some papers here, said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as we sat one winter's night on either side of the fire, which I really think, Watson, that it would be worth your while to glance over. These are the documents in this extraordinary case of the glorious Scott, and this is the message which struck justice of the peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it. He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and undoing the tape he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half sheet of slate grey paper. The supply of game for London is going steadily up, it ran. Headkeeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for flypaper and for preservation of your hen pheasant's life. As I glanced up from reading this enigmatic message, I saw Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face. You look a little bewildered, said he. I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise. Very likely, yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol. You arouse my curiosity, said I, but why did you say just now that there were very particular reasons why I should study this case? Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged. I had often endeavored to elicit from my companion what had first turned his mind in the direction of criminal research, but had never caught him before in a communicative humor. Now he sat forward in this armchair and spread out the documents upon his knees. Then he lit his pipe and sat for some time, smoking and turning them over. You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor, he asked. He was the only friend I made during the two years I was at college. I was never a very sociable fellow Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year. Bar fencing and boxing I had few athletic tastes, and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the other fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing onto my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel. It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. I was laid by the heels for ten days, but Trevor used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to me in most respects, but we had some subject in common, and it was a bond of union when I found that he was as friendless as I. Finally he invited me down to his father's place at Donothorp in Norfolk, and I accepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation. Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, a JP, and a landed proprietor. Donothorp is a little hamlet just to the north of Langmere, in the country of the Brods. The house was an old-fashioned, widespread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it. There was excellent wild duck-shooting in the fens, remarkably good fishing, a small but selects library, taken over as I understood from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he would be a fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month there. Trevor's senior was a widower, and my friend his only son. There had been a daughter I heard, but she had died of diphtheria while on a visit to Birmingham. The father interested me extremely. He was a man of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude strength, both physically and mentally. He knew hardly any books, but he had travelled far, and had seen much of the world, and had remembered all that he had learned. In person he was the thick-set burly man with a shock of grizzled hair, a brown weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were keen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation for kindness and charity on the countryside, and was noted for the leniency of his sentences from the bench. One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass of port after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk about those habits of observation and inference which I had already formed into a system, although I had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in my life. The old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in his description of one or two trivial feats which I had performed. Come now, Mr. Holmes, said he, laughing good humoredly. I am an excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me. Have fear there is not very much, I answered. I might suggest that you have gone about in fear of some personal attack within the last twelfth month. The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise. Well, that's true enough, said he. You know, Victor, turning to his son, when we broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, and Sir Edward Holly has actually been attacked, I have always been on my guard since then, though I have no idea how you know it. You have a very handsome stick, I answered. By the inscription I observed that you had not had it more than a year, but you have taken some pains to bore the head of it and poor melted lead into the hole so as to make it a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take such precautions unless you had some danger to fear. Anything else, he asked, smiling. You have boxed a good deal in your youth. Right again, how did you know it? It is my nose knocked a little out of the straight. No, said I, it is your ears. They have the peculiar flattening and thickening which marks the boxing man. Anything else? You have done a good deal of digging by your colossities. Made all my money at the gold fields. You have been in New Zealand. Right again. You have visited Japan. Quite true. And you have been most intimately associated with someone whose initials were J.A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely forget. Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon me with a strange wild stare, and then pitched forward with his face among the nutshells which strewn the cloth in a dead faint. You can imagine Watson how shocked both his son and I were. His attack did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar and sprinkled the water from one of the finger glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or two and sat up. Ah, boys, said he, forcing a smile. I hope I haven't frightened you. Strong as I look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does not take much to knock me over. I don't know how you manage this, Mr. Holmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of fact into fancy would be children in your hands. That's your line of life, sir, and you may take the word of a man who has seen something of the world. And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my ability, with which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, Watson, the very first thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made out of what had up to that time been the nearest hobby. At the moment, however, I was too much concerned at the sudden illness of my host to think of anything else. I hope that I have said nothing to pain you, said I. Well, you certainly touched upon a rather tender point. Might I ask how you know and how much you know? He spoke now in a half-justing fashion, but a look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes. It is simplicity itself, said I. When you bared your arm to draw that fish into the boat, I saw that J.A. had been tattooed in the bend of the elbow. The letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from their blurred appearance and from the staining of the skin around them that efforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious then that those initials had once been very familiar to you, and that you had afterwards wished to forget them. What an eye you have, he cried with a sigh of relief. It is just as you say, but we won't talk of it. Of all ghosts, the ghosts of our old lovers are the worst. Come into the billiard room and have a quiet cigar. From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner toward me. Even his son remarked it. You've given the Governor such a turn, said he, that he'll never be sure again of what you know and what you don't know. He did not mean to show it, I'm sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at every action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing him uneasiness that I drew my visit to a close. On the very day, however, before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of importance. We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the broads. When a maid came out to say, there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr. Trevor. What is his name? asked my host. He would not give any. What does he want, then? He says that you know him and that he only wants a moment's conversation. Show him round here. In instant afterwards there appeared a little wiseened fellow with the cringing manner and a shambling style of walking. He wore an open jacket with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red and black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. His face was thin and brown and crafty with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were half-closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors. As he came slouching across the lawn, I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccuping noise in his throat, and jumping out of his chair he ran into the house. He was back in a moment, and I smelled a strong reek of brandy as he passed me. Well, my man, said he, what can I do for you? The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes and with the same loose-lipped smile upon his face. You don't know me, he asked. Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson, said Mr. Trevor in a tone of surprise. Hudson, it is, sir, said the seaman. Why, it's thirty years and more since I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and me still picking my saltmeat out of the harness cask. Tat, you will find that I have not forgotten old times, cried Mr. Trevor, and walking towards the sailor, he said something in a low voice. Go into the kitchen, he continued out loud, and you will get food and drink. I have no doubt that I shall find you a situation. Thank you, sir, said the seaman, touching his forelock. I'm just off a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp. Short-handed at that, and I want a rest. I thought I'd get it either with Mr. Beddowes or with you. Ah, cried Trevor, you know where Mr. Beddowes is. Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are, said the fellow with a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the kitchen. Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmate with the man when he was going back to the diggings, and then leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors. An hour later, when we entered the house, we found him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The whole incident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to leave Donna Thorpe behind me, for I felt that my presence must be a source of embarrassment to my friend. All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. I went up to my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working out a few experiments in organic chemistry. One day, however, when the autumn was far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I received a telegram from my friend imploring me to return to Donna Thorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my advice and assistance. Of course, I dropped everything and set out for the North once more. He met me with dog-card at the station, and I saw at a glance that the last two months had been very trying ones for him. He had grown thin and care-worn, and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he had been remarkable. The governor is dying, were the first words he said. Impossible, I cried. What is the matter? Apoplexy, nervous shock. He's been on the verge all day. I doubt if we shall find him alive. I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this unexpected news. What has caused it, I asked. Ah, that's the point. Jump in, and we can talk it over while we drive. You remember that fellow who came upon the evening before you left us? Perfectly. Do you know who it was that we led into the house that day? I have no idea. It was the devil, Holmes, he cried. I stared at him in astonishment. Yes, it was the devil himself. We have not had a peaceful hour since, not one. The governor has never held up his head from that evening, and now the life has been crushed out of him and his heart broken, all through this accursed Hudson. What power had he then? Ah, that is what I would give so much to know. The kindly, charitable, good old governor. How could he have fallen into the clutches of such a ruffian? But I am so glad that you have come, Holmes. I trust very much to your judgment and discretion, and I know that you will advise me for the best. We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with the long stretch of the broads in front of us glimmering in the red light of the setting sun. From a grove upon our left, I could already see the high chimneys and the flagstaff which marked the squire's dwelling. My father made the fellow gardener, said my companion, and then, as that did not satisfy him, he was promoted to be butler. The house seemed to be at his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chose in it, the maids complained of his drunken habits and his vile language. The dad raised their wages all round to recompense them for their annoyance. The fellow would take the boat and my father's best guns and treat himself to little shooting trips, and all this with such a sneering, leering, insolent face that I would have knocked him down twenty times over if he'd been a man of my own age. I tell you, Holmes, I've had to keep a tight hold upon myself all this time, and now I'm asking myself whether, if I had let myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiser man. Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animal Hudson became more and more intrusive, until it last, on making some insolent reply to my father in my presence one day, I took him by the shoulders and turned him out of the room. He slunk away with a livid face and two venomous eyes which uttered more threats than his tongue could do. I don't know what passed between the poor dad and him after that, but the dad came to me next day and asked me whether I would mind apologizing to Hudson. I refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how he could allow such a wretch to take such liberties with himself and his household. All my boy said he, it is all very well to talk, but you don't know how I am placed, but you shall know, Victor, I'll see that you shall know come what may. You wouldn't believe harm of your poor old father, would you lad? He was very much moved and shut himself up in the study all day, where I could see through the window that he was writing busily. That evening there came what seemed to me to be a grand release, for Hudson told us that he was going to leave us. He walked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner and announced his intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man. I've had enough of norfolk, said he. I'll run down to Mr. Beddow's in Hampshire. He'll be as glad to see me as you were, I dare say. Do not go away in an unkind spirit, Hudson, I hope, said my father with a tameness which made my blood boil. I have not had my apology, said he, sulkily glancing in my direction. Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used this worthy fellow rather roughly, said the dad turning to me. On the contrary, I think that we have both shown extraordinary patience towards him, I answered. All you do, do ya, he snarls. Very good, mate, we'll see about that. He slouched out of the room, and half an hour afterwards left the house, leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness. Night after night I heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he was recovering his confidence that the blow did it last fall. And how, I asked eagerly. In a most extraordinary fashion, a letter arrived for my father yesterday evening, bearing the Forting Bridge postmark. My father read it, clapped both his hands to his head, and began running around the room in little circles, like a man who's been driven out of his senses. When I at last drew him down onto the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were all puckered on one side, and I saw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came over at once. We put him to bed, but the paralysis has spread. He has shown no sign of returning consciousness, and I think that we shall hardly find him alive. You horrify me, Trevor, I cried. What then could have been in this letter to cause so dreadful a result? Nothing, there lies the inexplicable part of it. The message was absurd and trivial. My God, it is as I feared. As he spoke, we came round the curve of the avenue, and saw in the fading light that every blind in the house had been drawn down. As we dashed up to the door, my friend's face convulsed with grief, a gentleman in black emerged from it. When did it happen, doctor? asked Trevor. Almost immediately after you left. Did he recover consciousness? For an instant before the end. Any message for me? Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the Japanese cabinet. My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death while I remained in the study, turning the whole matter over and over in my head, and feeling as somber as ever I had done in my life. What was the past of this Trevor, pugilist, traveller, and gold digger, and how had he placed himself in the power of this acid-faced semen? Why, too, should he faint at an allusion to the half-of-faced initials upon his arm, and die of fright when he had a letter from Fortingham? Then I remembered that Fortingham was in Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddowse, whom the semen had gone to visit and presumably, to blackmail, had also been mentioned as living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either come from Hudson, the semen saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret which appeared to exist, or it might come from Beddowse, warning an old Confederate that such a betrayal was imminent. So far it seemed clear enough, but then how could this letter be trivial and grotesque, as described by the sun? He must have misread it. If so, it must have been one of those ingenious secret codes which mean one thing while they seem to mean another. I must see this letter. If there were a hidden meaning in it I was confident that I could pluck it forth. For an hour I sat pondering it over in the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought in a lamp, and closer her heels came my friend Trevor, pale but composed, with these very papers which lie upon my knee, held in his grasp. He sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge of the table, and handed me a short note scribbled, as you see, upon a single sheet of grey paper. The supply of game for London is going steadily up, it ran. Headkeeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for flypaper and for preservation of your hen pheasant's life. I daresay my face looked as bewildered as yours did just now when first I read this message. Then I re-read it very carefully. It was evidently, as I had thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried in this strange combination of words. Or could it be that there was a pre-arranged significance to such phrases as flypaper and hen pheasant? Such a meaning would be arbitrary, and could not be deduced in any way. And yet I was loathed to believe that this was the case, and the presence of the word Hudson seemed to show that the subject of the message was as I had guessed, and that it was from beddows rather than the sailor. I tried it backwards, but the combination life pheasant's hen was not encouraging. Then I tried alternate words, but neither the of four nor supply game London promised to throw any light upon it. And then, in an instant, the key of the riddle was in my hands, and I saw that every third word, beginning with the first, would give a message which might well drive old Trevor to despair. It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it to my companion. The game is up, Hudson has told all, fly for your life. Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands. It must be that, I suppose, said he. This is worse than death, for it means disgrace as well. But what is the meaning of these headkeepers and hen pheasants? It means nothing to the message, but it might mean a good deal to us if we had no other means of discovering the sender. You see that he has begun by writing the game is, and so on. Afterwards, he had to fulfill the prearranged cipher to fill in any two words in each space. He would naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and if there were so many which referred to sport among them, you may be tolerably sure that he is either an ardent shot or interested in reading. Do you know anything of this bettos? Why, now that you mention it, said he, I remember that my poor father used to have an invitation from him to shoot over his preserves every autumn. Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes, said I. It only remains for us to find out what this secret was which the sailor Hudson seems to have held over the heads of these two wealthy and respected men. Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and shame, cried my friend, but from you I shall have no secrets. Here is the statement which was drawn up by my father when he knew that the danger from Hudson had become imminent. I found it in the Japanese cabinet, as he told the doctor. Take it and read it to me, for I have neither the strength nor the courage to do it myself. These are the very papers Watson which he handed to me, and I will read them to you, as I read them in the old study that night to him. They are endorsed outside, as you see, some particulars of the voyage of the bark, Gloria Scott, from her leaving Falmouth on the 8th October 1855 to her destruction in North latitude 15 degrees 20 minutes, West longitude 25 degrees 14 minutes on November 6th. It is in the form of a letter and runs in this way. My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins to darken the closing years of my life, I can write with all truth and honesty that it is not the terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position in the county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all who have known me, which cuts me to the heart, but it is the thought that you should come to blush for me. You who loved me and who have seldom, I hope, had reason to do other than respect me. But if the blow falls which is forever hanging over me, then I should wish you to read this, that you may know straight from me how far I have been to blame. On the other hand, if all should go well, which may kind God Almighty grant, then if by any chance this paper should be still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I conjure you by all you hold sacred by the memory of your dear mother and by the love which had been between us to hurl it into the fire and to never give one thought to it again. If then your eye goes on to read this line, I know that I shall already have been exposed and dragged from my home, or as is more likely, for you know that my heart is weak, by lying with my tongue sealed forever in death. In either case, the time for suppression is passed, and every word which I tell you is the naked truth, and this I swear as I hope for mercy. My name, dear lad, is not Trevor. I was James Armitage in my younger days, and you can understand now the shock that it was to me a few weeks ago when your college friend addressed me in words which seemed to imply that he had surprised my secret. As Armitage, it was that I entered a London banking house, and as Armitage, I was convicted of breaking my country's laws, and was sentenced to transportation. Do not think very harshly of me, laddie. It was a debt of honour so called which I had to pay, and I used money which was not my own to do it in the certainty that I could replace it before there could be any possibility of its being missed. But the most dreadful ill luck pursued me, the money which I had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a premature examination of accounts exposed my deficit. The case might have been dealt leniently with, but the laws were more harshly administered 30 years ago than now, and on my 23rd birthday I found myself chained as a felon with 37 other convicts in between decks of the Bark Gloria Scott, bound for Australia. It was the year 55 when the Crimean War was at its height, and the old convict ships had been largely used as transports in the Black Sea. The government was compelled, therefore, to use smaller and less suitable vessels for sending out their prisoners. The Gloria Scott had been in the Chinese tea trade, but she was an old-fashioned heavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft, and the new clippers had cut her out. She was a 500 ton boat, and besides her 38 jailbirds she carried 26 of a crew, 18 soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders. Nearly 100 souls were in her, all told, when we set sail from Falmouth. The partitions between the cells of the convicts, instead of being of thick oak as is usual in convict ships, were quite thin and frail. The man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom I'd had particularly noticed when we were led down the quay. He was a young man with a clear hairless face, a long thin nose, and a rather nutcracker jaws. He carried his head very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style of walking, and was, above all else, remarkable for his extraordinary height. I don't think any of our heads would have come up to his shoulder, and I am sure that he could not have measured less than six and a half feet. It was strange among so many sad and weary faces to see one which was full of energy and resolution. The sight of it was, to me, like a fire in a snowstorm. I was glad then to find that he was my neighbour, and glad her still when in the dead of the night I heard a whisper close to my ear, and found that he had managed to cut an opening in the board which separated us. Hello, chummy, said he. What's your name, and what are you here for? I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking with. I'm Jack Prendergrost, said he, and by God, you'll learn to bless my name before you've done with me. I remembered hearing of this case, for it was one which had made an immense sensation throughout the country, some time before my own arrest. He was a man of good family and of great ability, but of incurably vicious habits who had by an ingenious system of fraud obtained huge sums of money from the leading London merchants. Ha-ha! You remember my case, said he proudly. Very well, indeed. Then maybe you remember something queer about it. What was that, then? I'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't I? So it was said. But none was recovered, eh? No. Well, where do you suppose the balance is? he asked. I have no idea, said I. Right between my finger and thumb, he cried. By God, I've got more pounds to my name than you've hairs on your head, and if you've money, my son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything. Now you don't think it likely that a man who could do anything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden, moldy old coffin of a Chin-Chana coaster. No, sir, such a man will look after himself, and will look after his chums. You may lay to that, you hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that he'll haul you through. That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it meant nothing, but after a while, when he had tested me and swore me in with all possible solemnity, he let me understand that there really was a plot to gain command of the vessel. A dozen of the prisoners had hatched it before they came aboard. Prendergrast was the leader, and his money was the motive power. I had a partner, said he, a rare good man as true as a stock to a barrel. He's got the dibs he has, and where do you think he is at this moment? Why, he is the chaplain of the ship, the chaplain, no less. He came aboard with a black coat and his papers right, and money enough in his box to buy the thing right up from his keel to main-truck. The cruiser is body and soul. He could buy him at so much a gross with a cash discount, and he did it before ever they signed on. He's got two of the warders and mirror, the second mate, and he'd get the captain himself if he thought him worth it. What are we to do then, I asked. What do you think, said he. We'll make the coats of some of these soldiers redder than ever the tailor did. But they're armed, said I. And so shall we be, my boy. There is a brace of pistols for every mother's son of us, and if we can't carry the ship with the crew at our back, it's time we were all sent to a young Mrs. Boarding School. You speak to your mate upon the left tonight, and see if he is to be trusted. I did so, and found my other neighbour to be a young fellow in much the same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. His name was Evans, but he afterwards changed it like myself, and he is now a rich and prosperous man in the south of England. He was ready enough to join the conspiracy, as the only means of saving ourselves, and before we had crossed the bay, there were only two of the prisoners who were not in the secret. One of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trust him, and the other was suffering from jaundice, and could not be of any use to us. From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us from taking possession of the ship. The crew were a set of ruffians, specially picked for the job. The sham chaplain came into our cells to exhort us, carrying a black bag, supposed to be full of tracts, and so often did he come that by the third day we had each stowed away at the foot of our beds a file, a brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs. Two of the warders were agents of Prendergrast, and the second mate was his right-hand man. The captain, the two mates, two warders, Lieutenant Martin, his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had against us. Yet, safe as it was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and to make our attack suddenly by night. It came, however, more quickly than we expected, and in this way. One evening, about the third week after our start, the doctor had come down to see one of the prisoners, who was ill, and putting his hand down on the bottom of his bunk, he felt the outline of the pistols. If he had been silent he might have blown the whole thing, but he was a nervous little chap, and so he gave a cry of surprise, and turned so pale that the man knew what was up in an instant and seized him. He was gagged before he could give the alarm, and tied down upon the bed. He had unlocked the door that led to the deck, and we were threw it in a rush. The two sentries were shot down, and so was a corporal who came running to see what was the matter. There were two more soldiers at the door of the state room, and their muskets seemed not to be loaded, for they never fired upon us, and they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets. Then we rushed out into the captain's cabin, but as we pushed open the door there was an explosion from within, and there he lay with his brain smeared over the chart of the Atlantic, which was pinned upon the table, while the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol in his hand at his elbow. The two mates had both been seized by the crew, and the whole business seemed to be settled. The state room was next to the cabin, and we flocked in there and flopped down on the satis, all speaking together for we were just mad with the feeling that we were free once more. There were lockers all round, and Wilson the sham chaplain knocked one of them in, and pulled out a dozen of brown sherry. We cracked off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff out into tumblers, and we were just tossing them off, when in an instant without warning there came the roar of muskets in our ears, and the saloon was so full of smoke that we could not see across the table. When it cleared again the place was a shambles. Wilson and eight others were wriggling on the top of each other on the floor, and the blood and the brown sherry on that table turned me sick now when I think of it. We were so cowed by the sight that I think we should have given the job up if it had not been for Prendegrast. He bellowed like a bowl and rushed for the door, with all that were left alive at his heels. Out we ran, and there on the poop were the lieutenant, and the ten of his men. The swing skylights above the saloon table had been a bit open, and they had fired on us through the slit. We got on them before they could load, and they stood to it like men, but we had the upper hand of them, and in five minutes it was all over. My God, was there ever a slaughterhouse like that ship? Prendegrast was like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as if they had been children and threw them overboard, alive or dead. There was one sergeant that was horribly wounded, and yet kept on swimming for a surprising time, until someone in mercy blew out his brains. When the fighting was over, there was no one left of our enemies except just the warders, the mates, and the doctor. It was over them that the great quarrel arose. There were many of us who were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had no wish to have murder on our souls. It was one thing to knock the soldiers over with their muskets in their hands, and it was another to stand by while men were being killed in cold blood. Eight of us, five convicts and three sailors, said that we would not see it done, but there was no moving Prendegrast and those who were with him. Our only chance of safety lay in making a clean job of it, said he, and he would not leave a tongue with power to wag in a witness-box. It nearly came to our sharing the fate of the prisoners, but at last he said that if we wished we might take a boat and go. We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of these bloodthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse before it was done. We were given a suit of sailor-togs each, a barrel of water, two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass. Prendegrast threw us over a chart, told us that we were shipwrecked mariners, whose ship had foundered in latitude fifteen degrees and longitude twenty-five degrees west, and then cut the painter and let us go. And now I come to the most surprising part of my story, my dear son. The seamen had hauled the four-yard aback during the rising, but now as we left them they brought it square again, and as there was a light wind from the north and east the bark began to draw slowly away from us. Our boat lay rising and falling upon the long, smooth rollers, and Evans and I, who were the most educated of the party, were sitting in the sheets, working out our position and planning what coast we should make for. It was a nice question, for the Capita Verdes were about five hundred miles to the north of us, and the African coast about seven hundred to the east. On the whole as the wind was coming round to the north, we thought that Sierra Leone might be best, and turned our head in that direction, the bark being at that time nearly hulled down on our starboard quarter. Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense black cloud of smoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon the skyline. A few seconds later a roar-like thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke thinned away there was no sign left of the glorious Scott. In an instant we swept the boat's head round again and pulled with all our strength for the place where the haze still trailing over the water marked the scene of this catastrophe. It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we feared that we had come too light to save anyone. A splittered boat and a number of crates and fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves showed us where the vessel had foundered, but there was no sign of life, and we had turned away in despair when we heard a cry for help, and saw at some distance a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across it. When we pulled him aboard the boat he proved to be a young semen of the name of Hudson, who was so burned and exhausted that he could give us no account of what had happened until the following morning. It seemed that after we had left, Prendergrast and his gang had proceeded to put to death the five remaining prisoners. The two warders had been shot and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate. Prendergrast then descended to the tween decks and with his own hands cut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon. There only remained the first mate, who was a bold and active man. When he saw the convict approaching him with the bloody knife in his hand he kicked off his bonds which he had somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged into the after-hold. A dozen convicts who descended with their pistols in search of him found him with a matchbox in his hand seated beside an open powder barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on board and swearing that he would blow all hands up if he were in any way molested. An instant later the explosion occurred though Hudson thought it was caused by the misdirected bullet of one of the convicts rather than the mate's match. Be the cause what it may, it was the end of the glorious scot and of the rabble who held command of her. Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of this terrible business in which I was involved. Next day we were picked up by the brig Hotspur bound for Australia, whose captain found no difficulty in believing that we were the survivors of a passenger ship which had foundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was set down by the Admiralty as being lost at sea and no word has ever leaked out as to her true fate. After an excellent voyage the Hotspur landed us at Sydney where Evans and I changed our names and made our way to the diggings where among the crowds who were gathered from all nations we had no difficulty in losing our former identities. The rest I need not relate. We prospered, we travelled, we came back as rich colonials to England, and we bought country estates. For more than twenty years we have led peaceful and useful lives and we hoped that our past was forever buried. Imagine then my feelings when in the semen who came to us I recognized instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck. He had tracked us down somehow and had set himself to live upon our fears. You will understand now how it was that I strove to keep the peace with him and you will in some measure sympathize with me in the fears which fill me now that he has gone from me to his other victim with threats upon his tongue. Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardly legible, Bedot's rites in cipher to say H has told all, Sweet Lord, have mercy on our souls. That was the narrative which I read that night to young Trevor and I think Watson that under the circumstances it was a dramatic one. The good fellow was heartbroken at it and went out to the Terai tea planting where I hear that he is doing well. As to the sailor and Bedot's, neither of them was ever heard of again after that day on which the letter of warning was written. They both disappeared utterly and completely. No complaint had been lodged with the police so that Bedot's had mistaken a threat for a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking about and it was believed by the police that he had done away with Bedot's and had fled. For myself, I believed that the truth was exactly the opposite. I think that it is most probable that Bedot's, pushed to desperation and believing himself to have been already betrayed, had revenged himself upon Hudson and had fled from the country with as much money as he could lay his hands on. Those are the facts of the case doctor and if they are of any use to your collection, I am sure that they are very heartily at your service. which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was nonetheless in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself, the rough and tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jackknife into the very center of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous heirs. I have always held to that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime, and when Holmes in one of his queer humours would sit in an armchair with his hair trigger and a hundred boxer cartridges and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic VR done in bullet pox, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it. Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them. For as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by a reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscripts which were on no account to be burned and which could not be put away safe by their owner. One winter's night as we sat together by the fire I ventured to suggest to him that as he had finished pasting extracts into his commonplace book he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and squatting down upon a stool in front of it he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages. There are cases enough here Watson said he looking at me with mischievous eyes. I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in. These are the records of your early work then, I asked. I have often wished that I had notes of those cases. Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me. He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender caressing sort of way. They are not all successes Watson said he, but there are some pretty little problems among them. Here is the record of the Tarleton murders and the case of Vambory the wine merchant and the adventurer of the old Russian woman and the singular affair of the aluminum crutch as well as a full account of Ricolletti of the clubfoot and his abominable wife. And here, ah now this really is something a little richer shea. He dived his arm down to the bottom of his chest and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid such as children's toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old discs of metal. Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot? he asked, smiling at my expression. It is a curious collection, very curious, and the story that hangs around it will strike you as being more curious still. These relics have a history then? So much so that they are history. What do you mean by that? Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he receded himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. These, said he, are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave ritual. I've heard him mention this case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. I should be so glad, said I, if you would give me an account of it. And leave the litter as it is, he cried mischievously. Your tidiness won't bear much strain after all, Watson, but I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete, which contained no account of this very singular business. You may remember how the affair of the glorious Scott and my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of first turned my attention in the direction of my profession which has become my life's work. You see me now when my name has become known far and wide, and when I am generally recognized, both by the public and by the official force, as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you have commemorated in a study in Scarlet, I have already established a considerable, though not very lucrative, connection. You can hardly realize then how difficult I founded it first, and how long I had to wait before I succeeded in making any headway. When I first came up to London, I had rooms in Montague Street, just round the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited, filling in my too abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of science which might make me more efficient. Now and again cases came in my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow students, for during my last years at the university, there was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods. The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of events and the large issues which proved to be at stake that I traced my first stride towards the position which I now hold. Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was set down as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In appearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed and large-eyed with languid in yet courtly manners. He was indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern Musgraves sometime in the sixteenth century, and had established itself in western Sussex, where the manor house of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited building in the country. Something of his birthplace seemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or twice we drifted into talk and I can remember that more than once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observation and inference. For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning he walked into my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was dressed like a young man of fashion, he always was a bit of a dandy, and preserved the same quiet suave manner which had formerly distinguished him. How was all gone with you, Musgrave? I asked after we had cordially shaken hands. You probably heard of my poor father's death, said he. He was carried off about two years ago, since then I have of course had the Hurlstone Estates to manage, and as I am member for my district as well my life has been a busy one, but I understand homes that you are turning to practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us. Yes, said I, I have taken to living by my wits. I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very strange doings at Hurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the matter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business. You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson, for the very chance for which I had been panting during all those months of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart I believed that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had the opportunity to test myself. Pray, let me have the details, I cried. Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards him. You must know, said he, that though I am a bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve two, and in the pheasant months I usually have a house party, so that it would not do to be short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the butler, two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables, of course, have a separate staff. Of these servants, the one who had been longest in our service was Brunton the butler. He was a young schoolmaster out of place when he was first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. He was a well-grown, handsome man with a splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for twenty years, he cannot be more than forty now. With his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts, for he can speak several languages and plays nearly every musical instrument, it is wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position, but I suppose that he was comfortable and lacked energy to make any change. The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by all who visit us. But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in a quiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but since he has been a widower, we have no end of trouble with him. A few months ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again for he became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second housemaid. But he has thrown her over since then, and taken up with Janet Tragellis, the daughter of the head gamekeeper. Rachel, who is a very good girl but of an excitable Welsh temperament, had a sharp touch of brain fever and goes about the house now, or did until yesterday, like a black-eyed shadow of her former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone, but a second one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of Butler Brunton. This was how it came about. I have said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least concern him. I had no idea of the lengths to which this would carry him, until the nearest accident opened my eyes to it. I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last week, on Thursday night to be more exact, I found that I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner. After struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a novel which I was reading. The book, however, had been left in the billiard room, so I pulled on my dressing gown and started off to get it. In order to reach the billiard room I had to descend a flight of stairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and the gun room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before coming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one of these I picked a battle axe, and then leaving my candle behind me, I crept on tiptoed down the passage and peeped in at the open door. Bronton the Butler was in the library. He was sitting fully dressed in an easy chair with a slip of paper which looked like a map upon his knee and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the edge of the table shared a feeble light which sufficed to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly as I looked he rose from his chair and walking over to a bureau at the side he unlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. From this he took a paper and returning to his seat he flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table and began to study it with a minute attention. My indignation at this calm examination of our family documents overcame me so far that I took a step forward and Bronton looking up saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying. So said I, this is how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you. You will leave my service tomorrow. He bowed with the look of a man who was utterly crushed and slunk past me without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light I glanced to see what the paper was which Bronton had taken from the bureau. To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions and answers in the singular old observance called the Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family which each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of age, a thing of private interest and perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazenings and charges but of no practical use whatever. We had better come back to the paper afterwards, said I. If you think it really necessary, he answered, with some hesitation. To continue my statement, however, I relocked the bureau, using the key which Bronton had left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised to find that the butler had returned and was standing before me. Mr. Musgrave, sir, he cried in a voice which was hoarse with emotion. I can't bear disgrace, sir. I've always been proud above my station in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood would be on your head, sir. It will indeed, if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep me after what has passed, then for God's sake let me give you notice and leave in a month, as if of my own free will. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk that I know so well. You don't deserve much consideration, Bronton, I answered. Your conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been a long time in the family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month, however, is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give whatever reason you like for going. Only a week, sir, he cried in a despairing voice. A fortnight, say at least a fortnight. A week, I repeated, and you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with. He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man while I put out the light and returned to my room. For two days after this Bronton was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning, however, he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receive my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room, I happened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently recovered from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated with her for being at work. You should be in bed, I said. Come back to your duties when you are stronger. She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect that her brain was affected. I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave said she. We will see what the doctor says, I answered. You must stop work now, and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to see Bronton. The butler is gone, said she. Gone? Gone where? He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not in his room. Oh yes, he is gone. He is gone. She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to a room, still screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Bronton. There was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where, then, could butler Bronton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now? Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited. But we ransacked every room in cellar without discovering the least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the local police but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before, and we examined the lawn and the paths all around the house, but in vain. Matters were in this state when a new development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery. For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. On the third night after Bronton's disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the armchair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused, and with the two footmen started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for starting from under her window we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn to the edge of the mirror, where they vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it. Of course we had the drags at once, and set to work to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could be found. On the other hand we brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discoloured metal and several dull coloured pieces of pebbler glass. This strange find was all that we could get from the mirror, and although we made every possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at their wits end, and I have come up to you as a last resource. You can imagine Watson, with what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavoured to piece them together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. The butler was gone, the maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but had afterwards had caused hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. What was the starting point of this chain of events? There lay the end of this tangled line. I must see that paper, Musgrave, said I, which this butler of yours thought it worth his while to consult even at the risk of the loss of his place. It is rather an absurd business this ritual of ours, he answered, but it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over them. He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to man's estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand. Whose was it? His who is gone. Who shall have it? He who will come. Where was the sun? Over the oak. Where was the shadow? Under the elm. How was it stepped? North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one and so under. What shall we give for it? All that is ours. Why should we give it? For the sake of the trust. The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the 17th century, remarked Musgrave. I am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to you in solving this mystery. At least, said I, it gives us another mystery, and one which is even more interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters. I hardly follow you, said Musgrave. The paper seems to me to be of no practical importance. But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you caught him. It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it. He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared. That is true, but what could he have to do with this old family custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean? I don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that, said I. With your permission, we will take the first train down to Sussex and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot. The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I will confine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an L, the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus from which the other had developed. Over the low, heavily lintel door in the center of this old part is chiseled the date 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stonework are really much older than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had in the last century driven the family into building the new wing, and the old one was used now as a storehouse and a cellar when it was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timbers around the house, and the lake to which my client had referred, lay close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from the building. I was already firmly convinced Watson that there were not three separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read the Musgrave ritual aright, I should hold in my hand the clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both the Butler Brunton and the Maid Howells. To that then I turned all my energies. Why should this servant be so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he saw something in it which had escaped all those generations of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. What was it then, and how had it affected his fate? It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that the measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document alluded, and that if we could find that spot we should be in a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guides given us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak, there could be no question at all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent trees that I have ever seen. That was there when your ritual was drawn up, said I, as we drove past it. It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability, he answered. It has a girth of twenty-three feet. Had you any old elms, I asked. There used to be a very old one over yonder, but it was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump. You can see where it used to be? Oh, yes. There are no other elms. Not old ones, but plenty of beaches. I should like to see where it grew. We had driven up in a dog-cart, and my client led me away at once, without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. My investigation seemed to be progressing. I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was, I asked. I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet. How do you come to know it? I asked in surprise. When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad, I worked out every tree in building in the estate. This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming more quickly than I could have reasonably hoped. Tell me, I asked, did your butler ever ask you such a question? Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment. Now that you call it to mind, he answered, Bruntin did ask me about the height of the tree some months ago, in connection with some little argument with the groom. This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the right road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the ritual would then be fulfilled, and the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I had then to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak. That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer there. Well, at least I knew that if Bruntin could do it, I could also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study, and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this long string with a knot at each yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing rod, which came to just six feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had been. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It was nine feet in length. Of course, the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of 64 feet would throw one of 96, and the line of the one would, of course, be the line of the other. I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my exaltation, Watson, when within two inches of my peg, I saw a conical depression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Bronton in his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail. From this starting point I proceeded to step, having first taken the cardinal points by my pocket compass. Ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the east, and two to the south. It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west meant now that I was to go two places down the stone-flagged passage, and this was the place indicated by the ritual. Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and I could see that the old footworn gray stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many a long year. Bronton had not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But fortunately Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to check my calculation. And under, he cried, you have omitted the and under. I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now of course I saw it once that I was wrong. There is a cellar under this then, I cried. Yes, and as old as the house, down here through this door. We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion striking a match, little large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and that we had not been the only people to visit the spot recently. It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets which had evidently been littered over the floor were now piled at the sides, so as to leave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone, with a rusted iron ring in the center to which a thick shepherd's check muffler was attached. By Jove, cried my client, that's Brunton's muffler. I've seen it on him and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here? At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be present, and I then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side, a black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave kneeling at one side, pushed down the lantern. A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to us. At one side of this was a squat brass-bound wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust and dampened worms had eaten through the wood so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins apparently, such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it contained nothing else. At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box, and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no man could have recognized that distorted, liver-colored countenance, but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. When his body had been carried from the cellar, we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that with which we had started. I confessed that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had found the place referred to in the ritual, but now I was there, and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner, and thought the whole matter carefully over. You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man's place, and having first gauged his intelligence, I tried to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found that the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What would he do next? He could not get help from outside, even if he had someone whom he could trust without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. It was better if he could have his help made inside the house, but whom could he ask? This girl had been devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl Howells, and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar, and their united force would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen them. But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavy work for the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came upon what I expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very marked indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if they had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently as they had dragged the stone up, they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, until it last when the opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very well become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone would press it down onto the edge of this other slab. So far I was still on the safe ground. And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed up the contents presumably, since they were not to be found, and then—and then what happened? What smoldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her, wronged her perhaps far more than we suspected in her power? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become his sepulcher? Had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate, or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, I seem to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life out. Here was the secretor for blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peels of hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the box? What had she done with that? Of course it must have been the old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mirror. She had thrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime. For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out, Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the hole. These are coins of Charles I, said he holding out the few which had been in the box. You see we were right in fixing our date for the ritual. We may find something else of Charles I, I cried, as the probable meaning of the first two questions of the ritual broke suddenly upon me. Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the mirror. We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. I could understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stones lusterless and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metalwork was in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape. You must bear in mind, said I, that the royal party made head in England even after the death of the king, and that when they at last fled they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them, with the intention of returning for them in some more peaceful times. My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles II in his wanderings, said my friend. Ah, indeed! I answered. Well, now, I think that really should give us the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though in rather a tragic manner of a relic, which is of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as an historical curiosity. What is it, then, he gasped in astonishment? It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England. The crown? Precisely. Consider what the ritual says. How does it run? Whose was it? His who is gone? That was after the execution of Charles. Then who shall have it? He who will come? That was Charles II, whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal stewards. And how came it in the pond? Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer, and with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished. And how was it, then, that Charles did not get his crown when he returned? Asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this guy to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it has been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the venture. And that's the story of the Musgrave ritual, Watson. They have the crown down at Hurlstone, though they had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I'm sure that if you mentioned my name, they would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman, nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land beyond the seas. End of Adventure Five, The Musgrave Ritual