 CHAPTER IX. OF THE ADVENTURES OF SHIRLOCK HOMES, BY SIR ARTHUR KONAN DOYLE. OF ALL THE PROBLEMS WHICH HAVE BEEN SUBMITTED TO MY FRIEND, MR. SHIRLOCK HOMES, FOR SOLUTION DURING THE YEARS OF OUR INTIMISY, THERE WERE ONLY TWO WHICH I WAS THE MEANS OF INTRODUCING TO HIS NOTICE, THAT OF MR. HATHERLEE'S THUM, AND THAT OF CURNAL WARBURTON'S MADNESS. Of these, the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was so strange in its inception, and so dramatic in its details, that it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when set forth on block in a single half-column of print, than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads on to the complete truth. At the time, the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served to weaken the effect. It was in the summer of 89, not long after my marriage, that the events occurred which I am now about to summarize. I had returned to civil practice, and had finally abandoned homes in his Baker Street rooms, although I continually visited him, and occasionally even persuaded him to forego his bohemian habits so far as to come and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I happened to live at no very great distance from Paddington Station, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues, and of endeavoring to send me on every sufferer, over whom he might have any influence. One morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened by the maid tapping at the door to announce the two men had come from Paddington, and were waiting in the consulting room. I dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behind him. "'I've got him here,' he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "'He's all right.' "'What is it, then?' I asked, for his manner suggested that it was some strange creature which he had caged up in my room. "'It's a new patient,' he whispered. "'I thought I'd bring him round myself, then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe and sound. "'I must go now, doctor. I have my duties, just the same as you.' And off he went, this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him. I entered my consulting room and found a gentleman seated by the table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed, with a soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was modeled all over with blood stains. He was young, not more than five and twenty, I should say, with a strong masculine face. But he was exceedingly pale, and gave me the impression of a man who was suffering from some strong agitation which it took all his strength of mind to control. "'I am very sorry to knock you up so early, doctor,' said he. "'But I have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington, as to where I might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon the side table.' I took it up and glanced at it. Mr. Victor Hatherly, hydraulic engineer, 16A, Victoria Street, third floor. That was the name, style and abode, of my morning visitor. "'I regret that I have kept you waiting,' said I, sitting down in my library chair. "'You are fresh from a night journey,' I understand, which is in itself a monotonous occupation.' "'Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,' said he, and laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high ringing note, leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against that laugh. "'Stop it,' I cried. "'Pull yourself together.' And I poured out some water from a carafe. It was useless, however. He was often one of those hysterical outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and pale looking. "'I have been making a fool of myself,' he gasped. "'Not at all. Drink this.' I dashed some brandy into the water, and the color began to come back to his bloodless cheeks. "'That's better,' said he. "'And now, doctor, perhaps you would kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be.' He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protruding fingers and a horrid red spongy surface where the thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots. "'Good heavens,' I cried. "'This is a terrible injury. It must have bled considerably.' "'Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must have been senseless for a long time. When I came to, I found that it was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly around the wrist and braced it up with a twig. "'Excellent. You should have been a surgeon.' "'It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own province.' "'This has been done,' said I, examining the wound. "'By a very heavy and sharp instrument.' "'A thing like a cleaver,' said he. "'An accident, I presume?' "'By no means.' "'What? A murderous attack?' "'Very murderous indeed.' "'You horrify me.' I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered it over with cotton wadding and carbilized bandages. He lay back without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time. "'How is that?' I asked, when I had finished. "'Capital. Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man. I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through. "'Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently trying to your nerves.' "'Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police, but between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up. And even if they believe me, the clues which I can give them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will be done.' "'Ha!' cried I. "'If it is anything in the nature of a problem which you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you to come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the official police.' "'Oh, I have heard of that fellow,' answered my visitor. And I should be very glad if he would take the matter up. Though, of course, I must use the official police as well. Would you give me an introduction to him?' "'I'll do better. I'll take you round to him myself.' "'I should be immensely obliged to you.' "'We'll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to have a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?' "'Yes. I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.' "'Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an instant. I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in five minutes was inside a handsome, driving with my new acquaintance to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-room in his dressing-gound, reading the agony column of the times, and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs and doddles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion, ordered fresh rashes and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal. When it was concluded, he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy and water within his reach. "'It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, Mr. Haverly,' said he. "'Pray, lie down there, and make yourself absolutely at home. Tell us what you can. But stop when you are tired, and keep up your strength with a little stimulant.' "'Thank you,' said my patient. "'But I have felt another man since the doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has completed the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences.' Holmes sat in his big arm-chair, with the weary heavy-lidded expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor detailed to us. "'You must know,' said he, then I am an orphan and a bachelor, residing alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of my work during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner and Matheson, the well-known firm of Greenwich. Two years ago, having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of money through my poor father's death, I determined to start in business for myself, and took professional chambers in Victoria Street. I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so. During two years I have had three consultations and one small job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought me. My gross takings amount to twenty-seven pounds, ten pence. Every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to believe that I should never have any practice at all. Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with the name of Colonel Lysander Stark engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the Colonel himself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have ever seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than thirty. Mr. Hatherly, said he, with something of a German accent, you have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherly, as being a man who is not only proficient in his profession, but is also discreet and capable of preserving a secret. I bow, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an address. May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character? Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just at this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both an orphan and a bachelor, and are residing alone in London. That is quite correct, I answered. But you will excuse me if I say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter that you wish to speak to me. Undoubtedly so, but you will find that all I say is really to the point. I have a professional commission for you, but the absolute secrecy is quite essential. Absolute secrecy, you understand. And of course, we may expect that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the bosom of his family. If I promise to keep a secret, said I, you may absolutely depend on my doing so. He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I had never seen so suspicious in questioning an eye. Do you promise then, said he at last? Yes, I promise. Absolute and complete silence, before, during, and after. No reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing. I've already given you my word. Very good. He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across the room, he flung open the door. The passage outside was empty. That's all right, said he, coming back. I know that clerks are sometimes curious as to their master's affairs. Now we can talk in safety. He drove his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look. A feeling of repulsion and of something akin to fear had begun to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from showing my impatience. I beg that you will state your business, sir, said I. My time is of value. Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came to my lips. How would 50 guineas for a night's work suit you? he asked. Most admirably. I say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the mark. I simply want your opinion about the hydraulic stamping machine, which has got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong, we shall soon set it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as that? The work appears to be light and the pay magnificent. Precisely so. We shall want you to come tonight by the last train. Where to? To Afert and Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders of Oxfordshire and within seven miles of ready. There's a train from Paddington, which would bring you there at about 11.15. Very good. I shall come down in the carriage to meet you. There's a drive then? Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good seven miles from Afert station. Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there'd be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop the night. Yes, we could easily give you a shakedown. That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient hour? We have judged at best that you should come late. It is to recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do so. I thought of the 50 guineas and of how very useful they would be to me. Not at all, said I. I shall be very happy to accommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to do. Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I have no wish to commit you to anything without you having it all laid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers? Entirely. Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that Fuller's Earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in England. I have heard so. Some little time ago I had bought a small place, a very small place, within ten miles of running. I was fortunate enough to discover that there was a deposit of Fuller's Earth in one of my fields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two very much larger ones upon the right and left, both of them, however, in the grounds of my neighbors. These good people were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was quite as valuable as a gold mine. Naturally it was to my interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value, but unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested that we should quietly and secretly work on our own little deposit, and that in this way we should earn the money which would enable us to buy the neighboring fields. This we have now been doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations, we erected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already explained, has got out of order, and we wish to advise upon the subject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are going to AFIRB tonight. I hope that I make it all plain. I quite follow you, said I. The only point which I could not quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in excavating Fuller's earth, which, as I understand, is dug out like gravel from a pit. Ah, said he carelessly, but we have our own process. We compress the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully into my confidence now, Mr. Hathaly, and I have shown you how I trust you. He rose as he spoke. I shall expect you, then, at AFIRB, at eleven-fifteen. I shall certainly be there, and not a word to a soul. He looked at me with a last long questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold dank grasp, he hurried from the room. While when I came to think it all over in cool blood, I was very much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which had been entrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked, had I set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that this order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon me, and I could not think that his explanation of the Fuller's earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the wind, ate a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue. At Reading I had to change not only my carriage, but my station. However, I was in time for the last train to Aford, and I reached a little dim-lit station after eleven o'clock. I was the only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the platform, gave a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed out through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of the morning, waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a word, he grasped my arm, and hurried me into a carriage, the door of which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either side, tapped on the woodwork, and away we went as fast as the horse could go. "'One horse,' interjected Holmes. "'Yes, only one. Did you observe the color?' "'Yes, I saw it by the side lights when I was stepping into the carriage. It was a chestnut. Tired looking or fresh?' "'Oh, fresh and glossy. Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray, continue your most interesting statement.' Away we went, then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel Lysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat at my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than once, when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me with great intensity. The country roads seemed to not be very good in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the Colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel drive, and the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang out, and as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of the carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that I had crossed the threshold, the door slammed heavily behind us, and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away. It was pitch dark inside the house, and the Colonel fumbled about, looking for matches and muttering under his breath. Suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a long golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us. I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the light shone upon her dark dress, I knew that it was a rich material. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue, in a tone as though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a gruff monosyllable, she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room from when she had come, he walked towards me again, with the lamp in his hand. Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few minutes, said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the center, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel Stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the door. I shall not keep you waiting an instant, said he, and vanished into the darkness. I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of German, I could see that two of them were treatises on science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked across to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of the countryside, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And where was the place? I was ten miles or so from Aferd, and that was all I knew. But whether north, south, east, or west, I had no idea. For that matter, Redding and possibly other large towns were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded after all. Yet it was quite certain from the absolute stillness that we were in the country. I paced up and down the room, humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits, and feeling that I was thoroughly earning my fifty-ginny fee. Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few whispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing back like those of a frightened horse into the gloom behind her. I would go, said she, trying hard as it seemed to me to speak calmly. I would go. I should not stay here. There's no good for you to do. But madam, said I, I have not yet done what I came for. I cannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine. It is not worth your while to wait, she went on. You can pass through the door. No one hinders. And then, seeing that I smiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step forward, with her hands rung together. For the love of heaven, she whispered, get away from here, before it is too late. But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I thought of my fifty-ginny fee, of my weirdest journey, and of the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Why should I slink away without having carried out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This woman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention of remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up her hands in a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly as she had come. The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark, and a short thick man, with a chinchella beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson. "'This is my secretary and manager,' said the Colonel. "'By the way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just now. I fear that you have felt the draft.' "'On the contrary,' said I. I opened the door myself, because I felt the room to be a little close.' He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. "'Perhaps we had better proceed to business, then,' said he. "'Mr. Ferguson and I will take you up to see the machine. I had better put my hand on, I suppose. Oh, no, it is in the house.' "'What? You dig Fuller's earth in the house?' "'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But, and never mind that, all we wish you to do is to examine the machine, and to let us know what is wrong with it.' We went upstairs together, the Colonel first with the lamp, the fat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases and little-low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at least a fellow countryman. Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which he unlocked. Within was a small square room in which the three of us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the Colonel ushered me in. "'Vianal,' said he, actually within the hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will have the goodness to look it over, and to show us how we can set it right. I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very thoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and pressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. An examination showed that one of the India rubber bands, which was round the head of a driving rod, had shrunk so as not quite to fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who followed my remarks very carefully, and asked several practical questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I had made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity. It was obvious at a glance that the story of the Fuller's Earth was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a purpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a crust of metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a muttered exclamation in German, and saw the cadaverous face of the Colonel looking down at me. What are you doing there? he asked. I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that which he had told me. I was admiring your Fuller's Earth, said I. I think that I should be better able to advise you as to your machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used. The instant that I uttered the words, I regretted the rashness of my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes. Very well, said he, you shall know all about the machine. He took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and did not give an alice to my kicks and shoves. Hello? I yelled. Hello? Colonel, let me out! And then, suddenly in the silence, I heard a sound which sent my heart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers, and the swish of the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp still stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining the trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but as none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming against the door, and dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the Colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand appraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend very much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my face the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. Here the other way perhaps, and yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black shadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand erect when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope back to my heart. I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For an instant I could hardly believe that there was indeed a door which led away from death. The next instant I threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had been my escape. I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and I found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend whose warning I had so foolishly rejected. Come, come! She cried breathlessly. They will be here in a moment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste the so precious time, but come! This time at least I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to my feet, and ran with her along the corridor, and down a winding stair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the sound of running feet, and the shouting of two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we were, and from the one beneath. My guide stopped, and looked about her like one who was at her wit's end. Then she threw open a door which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon was shining brightly. It is your only chance, said she. It is high, but it may be that you can jump it. As she spoke, a light sprang into view at the further end of the passage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark rushing forward with a lantern in one hand, and a weapon like a butcher's cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between my Saviour and the Ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at any risks I was determined to go back to her assistance. The thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushing his way past her, but she threw her arms round him, and tried to hold him back. Fritz! Fritz! She cried in English. Remember your promise after the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be silent. Oh, he will be silent. You are mad, Elise, he shouted, struggling to break away from her. You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me pass, I say. He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to the sill when his blow fell. I was conscious of a dull pain. My grip loosened, and I fell into the garden below. I was shaken, but not hurt by the fall, so I picked myself up and rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I understood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me. I glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then for the first time saw that my thumb had been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavored to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my ears, and, next moment, I fell in a dead faint among the rosebushes. How long I remained unconscious, I cannot tell. It must have been a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with dew, and my coat sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. The smarding of it recalled in an instant all the particulars of my night's adventure, and I sprang to my feet with the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But to my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the hedge, close by the high road, and just a little lower down was a long building, which proved upon my approaching it to be the very station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream. Half-dazed I went into the station and asked about the morning train. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The same porter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I arrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was there a police station anywhere near? There was one about three miles off. It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined to wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case into your hands, and shall do exactly what you advise. He both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the shelf one of his ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his cuttings. Here is an advertisement which will interest you, said he. It appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this. Lost on the ninth inst, Mr. Jeremiah Hailing, age twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer, left his lodgings at ten o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since, was dressed in, et cetera, et cetera. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy. Good heavens! cried my patient. Then that explains what the girl said. Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of his little game, like those out and out pirates who leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it, we shall go down to Scotland Yard at once, as a preliminary to starting for Ayford. Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village. There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet of Scotland Yard, a plainclothes man, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an ordinance map of the county out upon the seat, and was busy with his compasses, drawing a circle with Ayford for its centre. There you are, said he. That circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir. It was an hour's good drive. And you think that they brought you back all that way when you were unconscious. They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed somewhere. What I cannot understand, said I, is why they should have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the villain was softened by the women's entreaties. I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in my life. Oh, we shall soon clear up all that, said Bradstreet. Well, I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found. I think I could lay my finger on it, said Holmes quietly. Really now, cried the Inspector, you have formed your opinion. Come now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south, for the country is more deserted there. And I say east, said my patient. I am for west, remarked the plain clothesman. There are several quiet little villages up there. And I am for north, said I, because there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any. Come, cried the Inspector, laughing, it is a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your casting vote to? You are all wrong. Well, we can't all be. Oh, yes you can. This is my point. He placed his finger in the center of the circle. This is where we shall find them. But the twelve-mile drive gasped heavily. Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads? Indeed. It is a likely ruse enough, observed Bradstreet thoughtfully. Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang. None at all, said Holmes, their coiners on a large scale and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver. We have known for some time that a club of gang was at work, said the Inspector. They had been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could get no father, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think we have got them right enough. But the Inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Aifred Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighborhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape. A house on fire, asked Bradstreet, as the train steamed off again on its way. Yes, sir, said the Station Master. When did it break out? I hear it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and the whole place is in a blaze. Whose house is it? Dr. Becker's. Tell me, broken the engineer, is Dr. Becker a German, very thin, with a long, sharp nose? The Station Master laughed heartily. No, sir. Dr. Becker is an Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a better lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as I understand. He was a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good Berkshire bafe would do him no harm. The Station Master had not finished his speech before we were all hastening in the direction of the fire. The rogue topped a low hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front three fire engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under. That's it! cried Hatterley in intense excitement. Where is the gravel drive? And there are the rose bushes where I lay. That second window is the one I jumped from. Well, at least, said Holmes, you have had your revenge upon them. There can be no question that it was your oil lamp, which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now. In Holmes's fears came to be realized. For from that day to this, no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of running, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes's ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts. The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window sill of the second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place had been reduced to such absolute ruin that saved some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an outhouse, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred to. How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mold which told us a very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet, and the other unusually large ones. On the whole it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out of the way of danger. Well, said our engineer ruefully, as we took our seats to return once more to London, it has been a pretty business for me. I have lost my thumb, and I have lost a fifty-ginny fee. And what have I gained? Experience, said Holmes, laughing. Indirectly it may be of value, you know. You have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence. CHAPTER X OF THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR The Lord St. Simon marriage and its curious termination have long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their more pecan details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode. It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the jazzyle bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers, until at last saturated with the news of the day. I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table, and wondering lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be. Here is a very fashionable epistle, I remarked as he entered. Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fishmonger and a tide waiter. Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety, he answered smiling. And the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie. He broke the seal and glanced over the contents. Oh come, it may prove to be something of interest after all. Not social, then. No, distinctly professional. And from a noble client, one of the highest in England. My dear fellow, I congratulate you. I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not? It looks like it, said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the corner. I have had nothing else to do. It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely, you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding. Oh, yes, with the deepest interest. That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return, you must turn over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what he says. My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Lord Backwater tells me that I am a place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you, in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no objection to your cooperation, and that he even thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call it four o'clock in the afternoon, and should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance. Yours faithfully, St. Simon. It is dated from Grovner Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the noble lord has had them misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of his right little finger, like Holmes, as he folded up the epistle. He says, four o'clock, it is three now. He will be here in an hour. Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the subject. Turn over those papers, and arrange the extracts in their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is. He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece. Here he is, said he, sitting down and flattening it out upon his knee. Lord Robert Walsingham DeVere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral. Hmm. Arms. Azure. Three cow-trops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846, he's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was undersecretary for the colonies in a late administration. The Duke, his father, was at one time secretary for foreign affairs. They inherited plantagenate blood by direct assent, and tutor on the distaff side. Huh. Well, there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that I must turn to you, Watson, for something more solid. I have very little difficulty in finding what I want, said I. For the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew you had an inquiry on hand, and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters. Oh, you mean the little problem of the Groverner Square furniture man. That is quite cleared up now, though, indeed, it was obvious from the first. Pray, give me the results of your newspaper selections. Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal column of the morning post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back. A marriage has been arranged, it says, and will, if rumor is correct, very shortly take place between Lord Robert St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hattie Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran, Esquire, of San Francisco, Cal, USA. That is all. Terse, and to the point, remarked Holmes, stretching his long, thin legs towards the fire. There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the same week. Ah, here it is. There will soon be a call for protection in the marriage market, for the present free trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. One by one, the management of the noble houses of Great Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself for over twenty years proof against the little God's arrows, has now definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hattie Doran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child, and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own, save the smallest state of Birchmore. It is obvious that the Californian heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to make the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a British purist. Anything else? asked Holmes, yawning. Oh yes, plenty. Then there is another note in the morning post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate, which has been taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later, that is, on Wednesday last, there is a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater's Place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride. Before the what? asked Holmes with a start. The vanishing of the lady. When did she vanish then? At the wedding breakfast. Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be, quite dramatic in fact. Yes, it struck me as being a little out of the common. They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon, but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this. Pray, let me have the details. I warn you that they are very incomplete. Perhaps we may make them less so. Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, singular occurrence, at a fashionable wedding. The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning, but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumors which have been so persistently floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation. The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover Square, was a very quiet one. No one being present saved the father of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord Eustis and Lady Clara St. Simon, the younger brother and sister of the bridegroom, and Lady Alicia Whittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. Aloysius Doran at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavored to force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room. Her prolonged absence, having caused some comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up in Ulster and Bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus apparel'd, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress, believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There are rumors of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the bride. And is that all? Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a suggestive one. And it is, that Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a Don Seuss at the Legro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now, so far as it has been set forth in the public press. And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory. Lord Robert St. Simon, announced our page-boy, throwing open the door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top. As to his dress it was careful to the verge of foppishness, with high collar, black frock coat, white waist coat, yellow gloves, patent leather shoes, and light-colored gaiters. He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses. "'Good day, Lord St. Simon,' said Holmes, rising and bowing. "'Pray take the basket chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Drop a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.' "'A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick.' "'I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.' "'No, I am descending.' "'I beg pardon. My last client of the sort was a king.' "'Oh, really?' "'I had no idea. And which king?' "'The king of Scandinavia.' "'What?' "'Had he lost his wife.' "'You can understand,' said Holmes suavely, that I extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promised to you and yours.' "'Of course. Very right, very right. I'm sure I beg pardon. As to my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion. Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public prince, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct. This article, for example, adds to the disappearance of the bride. Lord St. Simon glanced over it. "'Yes, it is correct, as far as it goes. But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you.' "'Pray, do so.' "'When did you first meet Miss Hattie Dora?' "'In San Francisco, a year ago.' "'You were traveling in the States.' "'Yes. Did you become engaged in that?' "'No. But you were on a friendly footing. I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused. Her father is very rich. He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope. And how did he make his money? In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds. Now, what is your own impression as to the young ladies, your wife's character? The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into a fire. "'You see, Mr. Holmes,' said he. My wife was twenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has come from nature rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions. She is impetuous, volcanic, I was about to say. She is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the name which I have the honour to bear,' he gave a little stately cough. Yet I not thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her. "'Have you her photograph?' I brought this with me.' He opened a locket and showed us the full face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph, but an ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon. "'The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your acquaintance.' "'Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her. She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry—a fair dowry, not more than as usual in my family. And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a fate to complete. I really have made no inquiries on the subject. Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the wedding? Yes. Was she in good spirits? Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our future lives. Indeed, that is very interesting, and on the morning of the wedding. She was as bright as possible, at least until after the ceremony. And did you observe any change in her then? Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident, however, was too trivial to relate, and can have no possible bearing upon the case. Pray, let us have it for all that. Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards the vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into the pew. There was a moment's delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worst for the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of the matter she answered me abruptly, and in the carriage on our way home she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause. Indeed. You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of the general public were present then. Oh, yes, it is impossible to exclude them when the church is open. This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends. No, no. I'd call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance, but really I think that we are wandering rather far from the point. Lady St. Simon then returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do on re-entering her father's house? I saw her in conversation with her maid. And who is her maid? Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California with her. A confidential servant? A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they look upon these things in a different way. How long did she speak to this Alice? Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of. You did not overhear what they said. Lady St. Simon's had something about jumping a claim. She was accustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant. American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wife do when she finished speaking to her maid? She walked into the breakfast room. On your arm? No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that. Then after we had sat down for ten minutes or so she rose hurriedly, muttered some words of apology and left the room. She never came back. But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to her room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went out. Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in company with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody and who had already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran's house that morning. Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady and your relations to her. Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. We have been on a friendly footing for some years. I may say on a very friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me. But you know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I feared, lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to Mr. Doran's door just after we returned, and she endeavored to push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her. But I had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and I had two police fellows there in private clothes who soon pushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a row. Did your wife hear all this? No, thank goodness, she did not. And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards. Yes, that is what Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard looks upon as so serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some terrible trap for her. Well, it is a possible supposition. You think so too. I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon this as likely. I do not think Flora would hurt a fly. Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray, what is your own theory as to what took place? Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I have given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense of social stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife, in short that she had become suddenly deranged. Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back, I will not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without success, I can hardly explain it in any other fashion. Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis, said Holmes smiling. And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all my data. May I ask whether you receded at the breakfast table, so that you could see out of the window? We could see the other side of the road and the park. Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer. I shall communicate with you. Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem? Said our client, rising. I have solved it. Eh? What was that? I say that I have solved it. Where then is my wife? That is a detail which I shall speedily supply. Lord St. Simon shook his head. I am afraid that it will take wiser heads than yours or mine, he remarked, and bowing in a stately old-fashioned manner, he departed. It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting it on the level with his own, said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. I think that I shall have a whiskey and soda and a cigar after all this cross questioning. I have formed my conclusions as to the case before our client came into the room. My dear Holmes! I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I remarked before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination served to turn my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial evidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote Thoreau's example. But I have heard all that you have heard. Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases, which serves me so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some years back, and something on very much the same lines at Munich the year after the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these cases, but, hello, here is the strawd. Good afternoon, the strawd. You will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box. The official detective was attired in a P-jacket and cravat, which gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag in his hand. With a short greeting, he seated himself and lit the cigar, which had been offered to him. What's up, then, asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. You look dissatisfied. And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal Saint Simon marriage case. I can make neither head nor tail of the business. Really? You surprise me. Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip through my fingers. I've been at work upon it all day. And very wet it seems to have made you, said Holmes, laying his hand upon the arm of the P-jacket. Yes, I have been dragging the serpentine. In Heaven's name! What for? In search of the body of Lady Saint Simon. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain, he asked? Why? What do you mean? Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one as in the other. Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. I suppose you know all about it, he snarled. Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up. Oh, indeed! Then you think that the serpentine plays no part in the matter? I think it very unlikely. Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it. He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled on to the floor a wedding dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes, and a Bryant's wreath and veil, all discolored and soaked in water. There, said he, putting a new wedding ring upon the top of the pile. There's a little nut for you to crack, Mr. Holmes. Oh, indeed! said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. You dragged them from the serpentine. No, they were found floating near the margin by a potkeeper. They had been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes were there, the body would not be far off. By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be found in the neighborhood of his wardrobe. And pray, what did you hope to arrive at through this? At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance. I am afraid that you will find it difficult. Are you indeed now? cried Lestrade with some bitterness. I am afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar. And how? In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card case. In the card case is a note, and here is the very note. He slapped it down upon the table in front of him. Listen to this. You will see me when all is ready. Come at once, F-H-M. Now, my theory, all along, has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door, and which lured her within their reach. Very good, Lestrade, said Holmes, laughing. You really are very fine indeed. Let me see it. He took up the paper in a listless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of satisfaction. This is indeed important, said he. Ha! You find it so? Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly. Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. Why? He shrieked. You're looking at the wrong side. On the contrary, this is the right side. The right side? You're mad. Here's the note written in pencil over here. And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me deeply. There's nothing in it. I looked at it before, said Lestrade. October 4th, rooms eight-shelling, breakfast two shelling, six pence, cocktail one shelling, lunch two shelling, six pence, glass sherry, eight pence. I see nothing in there. Very likely not. It is most important all the same. As to the note, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate you again. I've wasted time enough, said Lestrade rising. I believe in odd work in not sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first. He gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door. Just one hint to you, Lestrade, drawn to Holmes before his rival vanished. I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person. Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away. He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on his overcoat. There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work, he remarked. So I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your papers for a little. It was after five o'clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner's man with a very large, flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite Epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté d'éfoie gras pie, with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian knights, with no explanation saved that the things had been paid for, and were ordered to this address. Just before nine o'clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions. They have laid the supper, then, he said, rubbing his hands. You seem to expect company. They have laid for five. Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in, said he. I am surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs. It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in, dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features. My messenger reached you, then, asked Holmes. Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have you good authority for what you say? The best possible. Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead. What will the duke say, he murmured, when he hears that one of the family has been subjected to such humiliation? It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any humiliation. Ah! You look on these things from another standpoint. I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady could have acted otherwise. So her abrupt method of doing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise her at such a crisis. It was a slight, sir, a public slight, said Lord St. Simon, tapping his fingers upon the table. He must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented a position. I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have been shamefully used. I think that I heard a ring, said Holmes. Yes, there are steps on the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here, who may be more successful. He opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman. Lord St. Simon, said he, allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Frances Haymulton, the lady I think you have already met. At the sight of these newcomers, our client had sprung from his seat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the breast of his frock coat, a picture of offended dignity. The lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was as well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist. You're angry, Robert, said she. Well, I guess you have every cause to be. Pray, make no apology to me, said Lord St. Simon bitterly. Oh, yes. I know that I have treated you real bad, and that I should have spoken to you before I went. But I was kind of rattled, and from the time when I saw Frank here again, I just didn't know what I was doing or saying. I only wonder I didn't fall down and do a faint right there before the altar. Perhaps, Mrs. Multon, you would like my friend and me to leave the room while you explain this matter. If I may give an opinion, remarked the strange man, we had just a little too much secrecy over this business already. For my part I should like all Europe and America to hear the rights of it. He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner. Then I'll tell our story right away, said the lady. Frank here and I met in 84, in McQuire's camp near the Rockies, where Pa was working a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I. But then, one day, Father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank here had a claim that petered out and came to nothing. The richer Pa grew, the poorer Frank was. So at last, Pa wouldn't hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took me away to Frisco. Frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though, so he followed me there, and he saw me without Pa knowing anything about it. It would only have made him mad to know. So we just fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and make his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had as much as Pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the end of time and pledge myself not to marry anyone else while he lived. Why shouldn't we be married right away, then, said he, and then I will feel sure of you, and I won't claim to be your husband until I come back. Well, we talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with the clergymen already in waiting, that we just did it right there, and then Frank went off to seek his fortune, and I went back to Pa. The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then he went prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New Mexico. After that came a long newspaper story about how a miners' camp had been attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank's name among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. Pa thought I had a decline, and took me to half the doctors in Frisco. Not a word of news came for a year or more, so that I never doubted that Frank was really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to Frisco, and we came to London, and a marriage was arranged, and Pa was very pleased, but I felt all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place in my heart that had been given to my poor Frank. Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I'd have done my duty by him. We can't command our love, but we can our actions. I went to the altar with him, with the intention to make him just as good a wife as it was in me to be. But he may imagine what I felt, when, just as I came to the altar rails, I glanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me out of the first pew. I thought it was his ghost at first, but when I looked again, there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I didn't drop. I know that everything was turning round, and the words of the clergymen were just like the buzz of a bee in my ear. I didn't know what to do. Did I stop the service and make a scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to know what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to tell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on the way out, I dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he returned me the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so. Of course, I never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now to him, and I determined to do just whatever he might direct. When I got back, I told my maid, who had known him in California, and had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing but to get a few things packed and my Ulster ready. I know I ought to have spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all those great people. I just made up my mind to run away and explain afterwards. I hadn't been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank out of the window at the other side of the road. He beckoned to me, and then began walking into the park. I slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some woman came talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to me. Seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little secret of his own before marriage also, but I managed to get away from her, and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and away we drove to some lodging he had taken in Gordon Square, and that was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank had been a prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, come on to Frisco, found that I had given him up for dead and had gone to England, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the very morning of my second wedding. I saw it in a paper, explained the American. It gave the name and the church, but not where the lady lived. Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all for openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should like to vanish away and never see any of them again, just sending a line to Pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It was awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast table and waiting for me to come back. So Frank took my wedding clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away, somewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we should have gone on to Paris tomorrow, only that this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how he found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so secret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord Saint Simon alone, and so he came right away, round to his rooms at once. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I am very sorry if I have given you pain, and I hope that you do not think very meanly of me. Lord Saint Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long narrative. Excuse me, he said, but it is not my custom to discuss my most intimate personal affairs in this public manner. Then you won't forgive me. You won't shake hands before I go? Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure. He put out his hand and coldly grasped that which he extended to him. I had hoped, suggested Holmes, that you would have joined us in a friendly supper. I think that there you ask a little too much, responded his lordship. I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over them. I think that with your permission I will now wish you all a very good night. He included us all in a sweeping bow, and stalked out of the room. Then I trust that you at least will honor me with your company, said Sherlock Holmes. It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Milton, for I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far gone years will not prevent our children from being some day citizens of the same worldwide country under a flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes. The case has been an interesting one, remarked Holmes, when our visitors had left us. Because it serves to show very clearly how simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural than the sequence of events is narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than the result one viewed, for instance, by Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard. You were not yourself at fault, then. From the first two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home. Obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could that something be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If she had, it must be someone from America, because she had spent so short a time in this country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans so completely. You see, we have already arrived by a process of exclusion at the idea that she might have seen an American. Then who could this American be, and why should he possess so much influence over her? It might be a lover, it might be a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had gone before I ever heard Lord St. Simon's narrative, when he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in the bride's manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping, which in Minor's parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a prior claim to. The whole situation became absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous husband, the chances being in favour of the latter. And how in the world did you find them? It might have been difficult, but Friend Lestrade held information in his hands, the value of which he did not himself know. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance. But more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most select London hotels. How did you deduce the select? By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eight pence for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are not many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one, which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the book that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square, so that there I traveled, and being fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be better in every way that they should make their position a little clearer, both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the appointment. "'But with no very good result,' I remarked. His conduct was certainly not very gracious. "'Ah, Watson,' said Holmes, smiling, "'perhaps you would not be very gracious, either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. "'I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully, and think our star is that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. "'Try your chara, and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to wail away these bleak autumnal evenings.'" End of Chapter 10