 THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN by Sir Arthur Cohn and Doyle THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN by Sir Arthur Cohn and Doyle I had intended the adventure of the Abbey Grange to be the last of those ex-points of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I should ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine was not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of many hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man. The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown to the continued publication of his experiences. So long as he was in actual professional practice, the records of his successes were of some practical value to him. But since he is definitely retired from London and been taken himself to study and be farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful to him, and he has perempturally requested that his wishes in this matter should be strictly observed. It was only upon my representing to him that I had given a promise that the adventure of the second stain should be published when the times were ripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this long series of episodes should culminate in the most important international case which he has ever been called upon to handle, that I had last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain details, the public will readily understand that there is an excellent reason for my reticence. It was then, in a year and even in a decade that shall be nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble room in Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed and dominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Beninger, twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut and elegant, hardly yet of middle age and endowed with every beauty of body and of mind, was the right-honorable Trelawney Hope, secretary for European affairs and the most rising statesman in the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered satis, and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was business of the most pressing importance which had brought them. The Premier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European secretary pooled nervously at his moustache, and fidgeted with the seals of his watch-chain. When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight o'clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister it was at his suggestion that we have both come to you. Have you informed the police? No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with a quick, decisive manner for which he was famous. We have not done so, nor is it possible that we should do so. To inform the police must in the long run mean to inform the public. This is what we particularly desire to avoid. And why, sir? Because the documenting question is of such immense importance that its publication might very easily, I might almost say probably, lead to European complications of the utmost moment. It is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue. If its recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all. For all that is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents should be generally known. I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney, I hope I shall be most obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this document disappeared. That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter, for it was a letter from a foreign potentate, was received six days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it in my safe, but have taken it across each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked dispatch box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner, and saw the document inside. This morning it was gone. The dispatch box had stood aside the glass upon my dressing table all night. I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear that no one could have entered the room during the night. And yet I repeat, the paper is gone. What time did you dine? Half-past seven. How long was it before you went to bed? My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was half-past eleven before we went to our room. Then for four hours the dispatch box had lain unguarded. No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the housemaid in the morning, from my valet or my wife's maid during the rest of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been with us for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly have known that there was anything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers in my dispatch box. Who did know of the existence of that letter? No one in the house. Surely your wife knew? No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper this morning. The premier nodded approvingly. I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty, said he. I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance it would arise superior to the most intimate domestic ties. The European secretary bowed. You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter. Could she have guessed? No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed, nor could any one have guessed. Have you lost any documents before? No, sir. Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this letter? Each member of the cabinet was informed of it yesterday, but the pledge of secrecy which attends every cabinet meeting was increased by the solemn warning which was given by the prime minister. Could heavens to think that within a few hours I should myself have lost it? His handsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was replaced and the gentle voice had returned. Besides the member of the cabinet there are two or possibly three departmental officials who knew of the letter. No one else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you. But abroad! I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it. I am well convinced that his ministers, that the usual official channels have not been employed. Holmes considered for some little time. Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this document is and why it disappear in such a momentous consequence. The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance, and the premier's shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown. Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to— I fear, sir, said Holmes, that I am dressing and indeed essential as the details are. My inquiries must go more to the root of things. What was the letter? That is a state secret of the utmost importance, and I fear that I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can find such an envelope as I describe, with its enclosure, you will have deserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it lies in our power to bestow. Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile. You are two of the most busy men in the country, said he, and in my own small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regret exceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and any continuation of this interview would be a waste of time. The premier sprang to his feet with that quick fierce gleam of his deep-set eyes before which a cabinet has covered. I am not accustomed, sir," he began, but mastered his anger and resumed his seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence. Then the old statesman shrugged his shoulders. We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right, and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we give you our entire confidence. I agree with you," said the younger statesman. Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and that of your colleague Dr. Watson, I may appeal to your patriotism also, for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for the country than that this affair should come out. You may safely trust us. The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has been ruffled by some recent colonial developments of this country. It has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility entirely. Inquiries have shown that his ministers know nothing of the matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a manner and certain phrases in it are of so provocative a character that its publication would undoubtedly lead to a most dangerous state of feeling in this country. There will be such affirmance, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within a week of the publication of that letter this country would be involved in a great war. Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the Premier. Exactly it was he, and it is this letter, this letter which may well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the lives of a hundred thousand men which has become lost in this unaccountable fashion. Have you informed of the sender? Yes, sir, as Cypher Telegram has been dispatched. Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter. No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already understands that he is acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed manner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his country than to us if this letter were to come out. If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come out? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it? There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high international politics. If you consider the European situation, you will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole of Europe is an armed camp. There is a double league which makes a fair balance of military power. Great Britain holds the scales. If Britain were driven into war with one confederacy, it was sure the supremacy of the other confederacy, whether they join in the war or not. Do you follow? Very clearly. It is, then, the interest of the enemies of this potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach between his country and ours. Yes, sir. And whom would this document be sent if it fell into the hands of an enemy? To any of the great chancellories of Europe. It is probably speedy on its way, whether at the present instance as fast as steam can take it. Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned aloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder. It is your misfortune, my dear Fred, I know one can blame you. There is no precaution which you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes, you are in full possession of the facts. What course do you recommend? Holmes shook his head mournfully. You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there will be war? I think it is very probable. Then, sir, prepare for war. That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes. Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken after eleven thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and his wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss was found out. It was taken then, yesterday evening, between seven thirty and eleven thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since whoever took it evidently knew that it was there, would naturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if a document of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now? No one has any reason to retain it. It has been passed rapidly on to those who need it. What chance have we now to overtake it, or even to trace it? It is beyond our reach." The Prime Minister rose from the city. What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes, and I feel that the matter is indeed out of our hands. Let us presume for argument's sake that the document was taken by the maid or by the valet. They are both old and tried servants. I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor, that there is no entrance from without, and that from within no one could go up unobserved. It must then be somebody in the house who has taken it. To whom would the thief take it, to one of several international spies and secret agents whose names are terribly familiar to me? There are three who may be said to be the heads of their profession. I will begin my research by going round and finding if each of them is at his post. If one is missing, especially if he has disappeared since last night, we will have some indication as to where the document has gone. Why should he be missing? asked the European Secretary. He would take the letter to an Embassy in London as likely as not. I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their relations with the embassies are often strained. The Prime Minister nodded at his acquiescence. I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuable a prize to headquarters with his own hands. I think that your course of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, hope we cannot neglect all our other duties on account of this one misfortune. Should there be any fresh developments during the day, we shall communicate with you, and you will know not, let us know the results of your own inquiries. The two statesmen bowed, and walked gravely from the room. When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe in silence and sat for some time, lost in the deepest thought. I had opened the morning paper, and was immersed in a sensational crime which had occurred in London the night before, when my friend gave an exclamation sprang to his feet and laid his pipe down upon the mantelpiece. Yes, said he, there is no better way of approaching it. The situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could be sure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it has not yet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question of money with these fellows, and I have the British treasury behind me. If it is on the market, I will buy it, if it means another penny on the income tax. It is conceivable that the fellow might hold it back to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luck on the other. There are only those three capable of playing so bold a game. There are Oberstein, La Rothier, and Eduardo Lucas. I will see each of them. I glance at my morning paper. Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street? Yes. No, you will not see him. Why not? He was murdered in his house last night. My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventures that it was a sense of exaltation that I realized how completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement, and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was the paragraph which I had been engaged in reading when he rose from his chair. Murder in Westminster A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16 Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of 18th-century houses which lie between the river and the abbey, almost in the shadow of the great tower of the houses of parliament. This small but select mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well known in society circles, both on account of his charming personality, and because he has the well-deserved reputation of being one of the best amateur tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man of thirty-four years of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of Mitten, his valet. The former retires early and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o'clock onward Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred during that time is not yet transpired, but, at a quarter to twelve, police constable Barrett, passing along Godolphin Street, observed that the door of number sixteen was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer. Perceiving a light in the front room he advanced into the passage and again knocked, but without reply. He then pushed open the door and entered the room, was in a state of wild disorder, the furniture being all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its back in the centre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of its legs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbed to the heart, and must have died instantly. The knife with which the crime had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked down from a trophy of oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there had been no attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fate will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a widespread circle of friends. Well, Watson, what do you make of this? Asked Holmes after a long pause. It is an amazing coincidence! Coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we have named as possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent death during the very hours when we know that this drama was being enacted. The odds are enormous against its being coincidence. No figures could express them. No idea what's in the two events are connected, must be connected. It is for us to find the connection. But now the official police must know all. No, not at all. They know all they see at Gadolphin Street. They know, and shall know, nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only we know of both events and can trace the relation between them. There is one obvious point which would in any case have termed my suspicions against Lucas. Gadolphin Street Westminster is only a few minutes' walk from Whitehall Terrace. The other secret agents whom I have named live in the extreme west end. It was easier, therefore, for Lucas than for the others to establish a connection or receive a message from the European Secretary's household. It's a small thing, and yet where events are compressed into a few hours it may prove essential. Hello, what have we here? Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver. Holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to me. Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney hope if she would be kind enough to step up, said he. A moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguished that morning, was further honoured by the entrance of the most lovely woman in London. I'd often heard of the beauty of the youngest daughter of the Duke of Bellminster, but no description of it, and no contemplation of colourless photographs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm and the beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet, as we saw it that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the first thing to impress the observer. The cheek was lovely, but it was paled with emotion. The eyes were bright, but it was the brightness of fever. The sensitive mouth was tight and adorned in an effort after self-command. Terror, not beauty, was what sprang first to the eye, as our fair visitor stood frame for an instant in the open door. Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes? Yes, madam, he has been here. Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him that I came here? Holmes bowed coldly and motioned the lady to a chair. Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg that you will sit down and tell me what you desire, but I fear that I cannot make any unconditional promise. She swept across the room and seated herself with her back to the window. It was a queenly presence, tall, graceful, and intensely womanly. Mr. Holmes, she said, and her white-loved hands clasped and unclasped as she spoke, I will speak frankly to you in the hope that it may induce you to speak frankly to me in return. There is complete confidence between my husband and me on all matters, save one. That one is politics. On this his lips are sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I am aware that there was a most deplorable occurrence in our house last night. I know that a paper has disappeared, but because the matter is political my husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence. Now, it is essential, essential, I say, that I should thoroughly understand it. You are the only other person to save only these politicians who knows the true facts. I beg you then, Mr. Holmes, to tell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. Tell me all, Mr. Holmes, let no regard for your client's interests keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests, if you would only see it, we best served by taking me into his complete confidence. What was this paper which was stolen? Madam, what you ask me is really impossible." She groaned and sank her face in her hands. You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks fit to keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me who has only learned the true facts under the pledge of professional secrecy to tell what he has withheld? It is not fair to ask it, it is him whom you must ask. I have asked him, I come to you as a last resource, but without your telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a great service if you would enlighten me on one point. What is it, madam? Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this incident? Well, madam, unless it is set right, it may certainly have a very unfortunate effect. Ah! She drew in her breath sharply, as one whose doubts are resolved. One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which my husband dropped in the first shock of this disaster, I understand that terrible public consequences might arise from the loss of this document. If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it. Of what nature are they? Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can possibly answer. Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame you, Mr. Holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and you on your side will not, I am sure, think the worst of me, because I desire, even against his will, to share my husband's anxieties. Once more I beg that you will say nothing of my visit. She looked back at us from the door, and I had a last impression of that beautiful, haunted face, the startled eyes, then the drawn mouth. Then she was gone. Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes, with a smile, when the dwindling, frou-fou of skirts had ended in the slam of the front door. What was the fair lady's game? What did she really want? Surely her own statement is clear, and her anxiety very natural. Think of her appearance, Watson, her manner, her suppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions. Remember that she comes of a caste who do not likely show emotion. She was certainly much moved. Remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured us that it was best for her husband that she should know all. What did she mean by that? Then you must have observed, Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at her back. She did not wish us to read her expression. Yes, she chose the only chair in the room. I am getting the motives of women are so inscrutable. You remember the woman at Margate, whom I suspected for the same reason? No pied on her nose. That proved to be the correct solution. How can you build on such a quicksand? Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct made upon a hairpin or a curling tongs. Good morning, Watson. You're off? Yes. I will a while away in the morning at Gadopin Street with our friends of the regular establishment. With Edoardo Lucas lies the solution of our problem, though I must admit that I have not an inkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital mistake to theorise in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my good Watson, and receive any fresh visitors? I'll join you at lunch, if I am able. All that day, and the next, and the next. Holmes was in a mood which his friends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran out, and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours, and hardly answered the casual questions which I put to him. It was evident to me that things were not going well with him or his quest. He would say nothing of the case, and it was from the papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest, and the arrests with the subsequent release of John Mitten, the valet of the deceased. The coroner's jury brought in the obvious willful murder, but the parties remained as unknown as ever. No motive was suggested. The room was full of articles of value, but none had been taken. The dead man's papers had not been tampered with. They were carefully examined, and showed that he was a keen student of international politics, an inter-fatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and an entarring letter-writer. He had been on intimate terms with the leading politicians of several countries, but nothing sensational was discovered among the documents which filled his drawers. As to his relations with women, they appeared to have been promiscuous, but superficial. He had many acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom he loved. His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. His death was an absolute mystery, and likely to remain so. As to the arrest of John Mitten, the valet, it was a council of despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could be sustained against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith that night. The alibi was complete. It is true that he started home at an hour which would have brought him to Westminster before the time when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation that he had walked part of the way seemed probable enough in view of the fineness of the night. He had actually arrived at twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed by the unexpected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with his master. Several of the dead man's possessions, notably a small case of razors, had been found at the valet's boxes, but he explained that they had been presents from the deceased, and the housekeeper was able to corroborate the story. Mitten had been in Lucas's employment for three years. It was noticeable that Lucas did not take Mitten on the consent with him. Sometimes he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitten was left in charge of the Goodoffin Street house. As to the housekeeper, she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master had a visitor, he had himself admitted him. So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could follow it in the papers. If Holmes knew more, he kept his own counsel. But since he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him into his confidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touch with every development. Upon the fourth day there appeared a long telegram from Paris which seemed to solve the whole question. A discovery had just been made by the Parisian police, said the Daily Telegraph, which raises the veil which hung round the tragic fate of Mr Eduardo Lucas, who met his death by violence last Monday night at Goodoffin Street Westminster. Our readers will remember that the deceased gentleman was found stabbed in his room and that some suspicion attached to his valid, but that the case broke down on an alibi. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as Madame Ori Fournet, occupying a small villa in the Rue Austerlitz, was reported to the authorities by her servants as being insane. An examination showed she had indeed developed mania of a dangerous and permanent form. On enquiry the police have discovered that Madame Ori Fournet only returned from a journey to London on Tuesday last, and there is evidence to connect her with the crime at Westminster. A comparison of photographs has proved conclusively that Mr Ori Fournet and Eduardo Lucas were really one and the same person, and that the deceased had for some reason lived a double life in London and Paris. Madame Fournet, who is of Creole origin, is of an extremely excitable nature, and has suffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to frenzy. It is conjectured that it was in one of these that she committed the terrible crime which has caused such a sensation in London. Her movements, upon the Monday night, have not yet been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering to her description attracted much attention at a chairing cross-station on Tuesday morning by the wildness of her appearance and the violence of her gestures. It is probable, therefore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or that its immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman out of her mind. At present she is unable to give any coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold out no hopes of the re-establishment of her reason. There is it ever evidence that a woman, who might have been Madame Fournet, was seen for some hours upon Monday night watching the house in Goodolphin Street. What do you think of that, Holmes? I'd read the account aloud to him when he finished his breakfast. My dear Watson, said he as he rose from the table and paced up and down the room, you are most long-suffering, but if I have told you nothing in the last three days it is because there is nothing to tell. Even now this report from Paris does not help as much. Surely it is final as regards the man's death. The man's death is a mere incident, a trivial episode in comparison with our real task, which is to trace this document and save a European catastrophe. Only one important thing has happened in the last three days, and that is that nothing has happened. I get reports always arry from the government, and it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble. Now if this letter were loose—no, it can't be loose—but if it isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held back? That's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was it indeed a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the night when the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why is it not among his papers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off with her? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How can I search for it without the French police having their suspicions arouse? It is a case, my dear Watson, where the law is as dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every man's hand is against us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to a successful conclusion, it will certainly represent the crowning glory of my career. Ah, here is my latest from the front. He glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in. HELLO! Lestrade seemed to have reserved something of interest. Put on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to Westminster. It was my first visit to the scene of the crime—a high, dingy, narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the sentry which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us from the front window, and he glued it us warmly when a big constable had opened the door and let us in. The room into which we were shown was that in which the crime had been committed. But no trace of it now remained save an ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a small, square, drug-it in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse of beautiful, old-fashioned wood flooring in square blocks, highly polished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of which had been used on that tragic night. In the window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy. Seen the Paris news, asked Lestrade. Holmes nodded. Our French friends seemed to have touched the spot this time. No doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door. Surprise visit, I guess, for he kept his life in watertight compartments. He, later in, couldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she had traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another, and then with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn't all done in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her off with it. We got it all clear as if we had seen it. Holmes raised his eyebrows. And yet you have sent for me? Yes, that's another matter. A mere trifle but the sort of thing you take an interest in. Queer, you know, and what you might call freakish. It's nothing to do with the main fact. Can't have on the face of it. What is it, then? Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful to keep things in their possession. Nothing has been moved, officer in charge here day and night. This morning, as the man was buried and the investigation over, so far as this room is concerned, we thought we could tidy up a bit. This carpet, you see, it's not fastened down and it just laid there. We had occasion to raise it. We found— Yes, you found— Holmes' face grew tense with anxiety. Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years what we did find. You see, that stain on the carpet. What a great deal must have soaked through, must it not? Undoubtedly it must. Well, you were surprised to hear that there is no stain on the white woodwork to correspond. No stain, but there must— Yes, so you would say, but the fact remained that there isn't. He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over, he showed us that it was indeed, as he said. But the underside is as stained as the upper. It must have left a mark. The straw chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous expert. Now I'll show you the explanation. There is a second stain, but it does not correspond with the other. See for yourself. As he spoke, he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sure enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white facing of the old-fashioned floor. What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes? Oh, it is simple enough that two stains did correspond, but the carpet has been turned round, as it was square and unfastened. It was easily done. The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them that the carpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough, for the stains lie above each other, if you lay it over this way. What I want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why? I could see from Holmes a rigid face that he was vibrating with inward excitement. Look here, Lestrade, said he, has that comfortable in the passage been in charge of the place all the time? Yes, he has. Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it before us. We'll wait here. You take him into the back room. You'll be more likely to get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how he dared to admit to people and leave them alone in this room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Take it for granted. Tell him you know someone has been here. Press him. Tell him that a full confession is his only chance of forgiveness. Do exactly what I tell you. By George, if he knows, I'll have it out of him. Quite Lestrade. He darted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voice sounded from the back room. Now what's now? cried Holmes, with frenzied eagerness. All the demoniacal force of the man, masked behind that listless manner, burst out in a paradoxism of energy. He tore the drug it from the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it. One turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it. It hinged back like the lid of a box, a small black cavity open beneath it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it, and drew it out with a bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty. Quick Watson, quick, get it back again! The wooden lid was replaced, and the drug it had only just been drawn straight when Estrade's voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmes leaning languidly against the mantlepiece, resigned and patient, endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns. Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I could see that you're bored to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed all right. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of your most inexcusable conduct. The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room. I met no arms, sir. I'm sure the young woman came into the door last evening. Miss took the hours she did, and then we got talking. It's lonesome when you're on duty here all day. Well, what happened then? She wanted to see where the crime was done and read about in the papers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spoken young woman, sir, and I saw no army letting ever peep. When she saw that mark on the carpet, down she dropped on the floor and lay as if she were dead. I ran to the back and got some water, but I couldn't bring her to. Then I went round the corner to the ivy-plant for some brandy, but the time I brought it back, the young woman recovered and was off. Shamed of herself I dare say, and dare not face me. How about moving that drug it? Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back. You see, she fell on it, and it lies on a polished floor with nothing to keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards. It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, Cunsell McPherson, said Lestrade, with dignity. No doubt you thought that your breach of duty could never be discovered, yet a mere glance at that drug it was enough to convince me that someone had been admitted to the room. It's lucky for you, my man, that nothing is missing, or you would find yourself in Queer Street. I'm sorry to have to call you down over such a petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point of the second stay, not corresponding with the first, would interest you. Certainly it was most interesting. Has this woman only been here once, Cunsell? Oh, yes, sir, only once. Who was she? I don't know the name, sir, was answering an advertisement about typewriting, and came to the wrong number. Very pleasant, gentile young woman, sir. Tall? Hanson? Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you might say she was Hanson. Perhaps some would say she was very Hanson. How office I do let me have a peep? says she. She had pretty coaxing ways, as you might say, and I thought there was no arm in letting her just put her head through the door. How was she dressed? Quiet, sir, a long mantle down to her feet. What time was it? It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the lamps as I came back with a brandy. Very good, said Holmes. Come on, sir, I think that we have more important work elsewhere. As we left the house, Lestrade remained in the front room, while the repentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand. The constable stared intently. Good Lord, sir! he cried with amazement on his face. Holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast pocket, and burst out laughing as we turned down the street. Excellent, said he. Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings up for the last act. You will be relieved to hear that there will be no war, that the Right Honourable Trudoni Hope will suffer no setback in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet sovereign will receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that the Prime Minister will have no European complication to deal with, and that with a little tact and management upon our part, nobody will be a penny the worse for what might have been a very ugly accident. My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man. You have solved it! I cried. Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as dark as ever, but we have so much that it will be our own fault if we cannot get the rest. We will go straight to Whitehall Terrace and bring the matter to a head. When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary, it was for Lady Hilda Trudoni Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. We were shown into the morning-room. Mr. Holmes, said the Lady, and her face was pink with her indignation. This is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon your part. I desired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you a secret, lest my husband should think that I was intruding into his affairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here and so showing that there are business relations between us. Unfortunately, Madam, I had no possible alternative. I have been commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I must therefore ask you, Madam, to be kind enough to place it in my hands. The Lady sprang to her feet with the colour all dashed in an instant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed. She tottered. I thought that she would faint. Then by the grand effort she rallied from the shock, and as her supreme astonishment and indignation chased every other expression from her features. You insult me, Mr. Holmes. Come, come, Madam. It is useless. Give up the letter. She darted to the bell. The butler shall show you out. Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest efforts to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter, and all will be set right. If you will work with me, I can arrange everything. If you work against me, I must expose you. She stood, grandly defiant, a queenly figure. Her eyes fixed upon his, as if she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the bell, but she had foreborn to ring it. You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing, Mr. Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that you know something. What is it that you know? Brace it down, Madam. You will hurt yourself there if you fall. I will not speak until you sit down. Thank you. I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes. One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo Lucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious return to the room last night, and of the manner in which you took the letter from the hiding-place under the carpet. She stared at him, with an ashen face, and gulped twice before she could speak. You are mad, Mr. Holmes. You are mad! she cried at last. He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was the face of a woman cut out of a portrait. I have carried this because I thought it might be useful, said he. The policeman has recognised it. She gave a gasp, and her head dropped back in the chair. Come, Lady Hilda, you have the letter. The matter may still be adjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty ends when I have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take my advice and be frank with me. It is your only chance. Her courage was amourable, even now she would not own defeat. I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some absurd illusion. Holmes rose from his chair. I am sorry, if you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for you. I can see that it is all in vain. He rang the bell. The butler entered. Is Mr. Trelawney hope at home? He'll be home, sir, at a quarter to one. Holmes glanced at his watch. Still a quarter of an hour, said he. Very good, I shall wait. The butler had hardly closed the door behind him. When Lady Hilda was down on her knees at Holmes' feet, her hands outstretched, her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears. Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes, spare me! She pleaded, in a frenzy of supplication. For heaven's sake, don't tell him I love him, so I would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I know would break his noble heart. Holmes raised the lady. I am thankful, madam, that you have come to your senses, even at this last moment. There is not an instant to lose. Where is the letter? She darted across to a writing desk, unlocked it, and drew out a long blue envelope. Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would heaven I had never seen it? How can we return it, Holmes' butler? Quick, we must think of some way. Where is the dispatch box? Still in his bedroom. What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here. A moment later she had appeared with a red, flat box in her hand. How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of course you have. Open it! From out of her bosom, Lady Hilda had drawn a small key. The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the blue envelope deep down into the heart of them, between the leaves of some other document. The box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom. Now we are ready for him, said Holmes. We have still ten minutes. I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return you will spend the time in telling me, frankly, the real meaning of this extraordinary affair. Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything, cried the lady. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a moment of sorrow. There is no woman in all London who loves my husband and eyes do. And if he knew how I had acted, how I had been compelled to act, he would never forgive me. For his own honour stands so high that he could not forget or pardon a lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes. My happiness, his happiness, are very lives are at stake. Quick, madam, the time grows short. It was a letter of my, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter written before my marriage, a foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive, loving girl. I meant no harm, yet he would have thought it criminal. Had he read that letter, his confidence would have been forever destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I had thought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then at last I heard from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and that he would lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy. He said that he would return my letter if I would bring him a certain document which he described in my husband's dispatch box. He had some spy in the office who had told him of his existence. He assured me that no harm could come to my husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr. Holmes. What was I to do? Take your husband into your confidence. I could not, Mr. Holmes. I could not. On the one side seemed certain ruin. On the other, terrible as it seemed to take my husband's paper, still in a matter of politics I could not understand the consequences. Or in a matter of love and trust they were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I took an impression of his key. This man, Lucas, furnished a duplicate, opened his dispatch box, took the paper, and conveyed it to Gondolfine Street. What happened there, madam? I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed him into his room, leaving the hall-door a jar behind me, for I feared to be alone with the man. I remember that there was a woman outside as I entered. Our business was soon done. He had my letter on his desk. I handed him the document. He gave me the letter. At this instant there was a sound at the door that was stepped in the passage. Lucas quickly turned back the drug. It thrust the document into some hiding-place there and covered it over. What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a vision of a dark, frantic face of a woman's voice which screamed in French. My waiting is not in vain. At last, at last, I have found you with her! There was a savage struggle. I saw him with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from the horrible scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That night I was happy, for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the future would bring. It was the next morning that I realized that I had only exchanged one trouble for another. My husband's anguish of the loss of his paper went to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself from there and then kneeling down at his feet and telling him what I had done. But that again would mean a confession of the past. I came to you that morning in order to understand the full enormity of my fence, from the instant that I grasped it, my whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting back my husband's paper. It must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it was concealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. If it had not been for her coming, I should not have known where his hiding-place was. How was I to get into the room? For two days I watched the place, but the door was never left open. Last night I made a last attempt. What I did and how I succeeded you have already learned. I brought the paper back with me and thought of destroying it since I could see no way of returning it without confessing my guilt to my husband. How did I hear his step upon the stair? The European Secretary burst excitedly into the room. Any news, Mr. Holmes? Any news? He cried. I have some hopes. I think Heaven—his face became radiant. The Prime Minister is lunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has nerves of steel, and yet I know that he is hardly slept since this terrible event. Jake, will you ask the Prime Minister to come up? As to you, dear, I fear that this is a matter of politics. We will join you in a few minutes in the dining-room. The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by the gleam of his eyes and the twitching of his bony hands that he shared the excitement of his young colleague. I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes. Ah, purely negative as yet, my friend answered. I have inquired at every point where it might be, and I am sure that there is no danger to be apprehended. But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live forever on such a volcano. We must have something definite. I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more I think of the matter, the more convinced I am that the letter has never left this house. Mr. Holmes, if it had, it would certainly have been public by now. But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in this house? I am not convinced that anybody did take it. Then how could it leave the dispatch box? I am not convinced that it ever did leave the dispatch box. Mr. Holmes, this joking is very old-time. Do you have my assurance that it left the box? Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning? No, it was not necessary. You may conceivably have overlooked it. Impossible, I say. But I am not convinced of it. I have known such things to happen. I presume there are other papers there when it may have got mixed with them. It was on the top. Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it. No, no, I had everything out. Oh, surely it is easily decided hope, said the Premier. Let us have the dispatch box brought in. The secretary round the bell. Ah, Jacob's bring down my dispatch box. This is a farcical waste of time, but still if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall be done. Thank you, Jacob's, put it here. I have always had the key on my watch chain. Here are the papers you see. Letters from Lord Merrow. Report from Sir Charles Hardy. Memorandum from Belgrade. Note on the Russia-German grain taxes. Letter from Madrid. Note from Lord Fla— Good heavens, what is this? Lord Penetra! Lord Penetra! The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand. Yes, it is it, and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate you! Oh, thank you, thank you, what a weight from my heart, but this is inconceivable, impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer. How did you know it was there? Because I knew it was nowhere else. I cannot believe my eyes. He ran wildly to the door. Where's my wife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda! Hilda! We heard his voice on the stairs. The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes. It comes, sir, said he, there is more in this than meets the eye. How came the letter back in the box? Holmes turned away, smiling from the keen scrutiny of those wonderful eyes. We also have our diplomatic secrets, said he, and picking up his hat. He turned to the door. End of the very adventure of the second stain. Recording by Simon Evers. A case of identity by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ohm123. A case of identity by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. My dear fellow, said Sherlock Holmes as we said on either side of the firing, his lodgings at Baker Street. Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of men could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere common places of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the ropes, and pippen at the queer things which are going on, the strings coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most ordinary reasons. It would make all fiction with its conventionalities and force and conclusions most tale and unprofitable. And yet I am not convinced of it, I answered. The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bold enough and vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is it must be confessed. Neither fascinating nor artistic. A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect, remarked Holmes. This is one thing in our police report, where most cases laid perhaps on the platitude of the magistrate, then upon the details, which to an observer contained the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the common place. I smiled and shook my head. I can quite understand your thinking so, I said. Of course in your position of unofficial advisor, and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But here, I picked out a morning paper from the ground. Let us put it to a practical test. Here is the first heading upon which I come. A husband's cruelty to his wife. There is half a column of print, but I know that reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is of course the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister, all and lady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude. Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for our argument, said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. This is the Dundas separation case, and as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler. There is no other woman, and the con the complaint of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and harling them at his wife. Which he will allow is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average storyteller. Take a pinch of snuff doctor, an acknowledge that I have scored over you in your example. He held out his snuff box of old gold, with a great amethyst in the center of the lead. Its splendor was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it. Ah, said he, I forgot that I hadn't seen you for some weeks. It is a little so when you run a king of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers. And the ring, I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant with sparkle upon his finger. It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems. And have you any on hand just now, I asked with interest. Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest. They're important you understand, would have been interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for observation, and for a quick analysis of cause and effect, which gives the charm to an investigation. The larger the crimes are up to be the simpler. For the bigger the crime, the more obvious as a rule is the motive. In these cases, say for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from Marseille, there is nothing which presents any features of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many so over. For this is one of my crimes, or I am much mistaken. He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds guessing down into the dull, neutral tinted London street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite, there stood a large woman with a heavy farb around her neck, and the lowest-calling red feeder in a broad-brimmed hat, which was tilted in a cockatice, due chess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. From under this great pan of lee, she pipped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at her windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly with a plunge, each of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell. I have seen those symptoms before, said Holmes, throwing a cigarette into the fire. Oscillation upon the pavement always means an affair decoy. She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet, even here we made discriminant, while the woman has been seriously wronged by a man seen no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wear. Here we take it that there is a love matter, but that, the maiden, is not so much angry as both legs are grieved, but here she comes in person to resolve our doubts. As he spoke, here was a tap at the door, and the boy in button-centred to announce Ms. Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind a small black figure, like a full-sale marching band behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with an easy courtesy for who it was remarkable, and having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair. He looked her over in the minute, and yet, abstracted face, she nods his big collier to him. Do you not find, he said, that with your short sight, it is a little trying to do so much typewriting? I did at first, she answered, but now I know where the ladders are without looking. Then suddenly, realizing the full power pot of his words, she gave a violent start, and looked up, with fear and astonishment, upon her broad, good human face. You have heard about me, Mr. Holmes? She cried, else how could you know all that? Never mind, said Holmes, laughing, it is my business to know things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me? I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Atreach, whose husband you found so easy, when the police and everyone had given him the port dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I am not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Holmes more angel. Why did you come here to consult me in such a hurry? asked Sherlock Holmes, with his fingertips together and his eyes to the ceiling. Again, his total look came over the somewhat vexious face of Miss Mary Sutherland. Yes, I did bang out of the house, she said, for it may be airy to see the easy way in which Mr. Windy bang, that is my father, took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing, and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just don't know it my things, and came right away to you. Your father, said Holmes, you stay father, surely, since your name is different. Yes, my stay father, I call him father, though it sounds funny too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself. And your mother is alive? Oh yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly 15 years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman. But when Mr. Windy bang came, he made her sale the business, for he was very superior, being a traveler in wines. They got bound 4,700 for a good will and interest, which wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been alive. I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient, under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but on the contrary, he had listened to the greatest concentration of attention. Your own little income, he asked. Does it come out of the business? I'll know, sir. It is quite separate, and was left to me by my uncle Ned in Auckland. It is a New Zealand stock, paying four and a half percent. £2,500 was the amount, but I can only touch the interest. You interest me extremely, said Holmes, and since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about £60. I could do it much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as I live at home, I don't wish to be burdened to them, and so they have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr. Wendy Bank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to Mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me two pans a sheet, and I can often do from 15 to 20 sheets in a day. You have made your position very clear to me, said Holmes. This is my friend Dr. Watson. Before him, you can speak as freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer and JL. A flush stole over Mrs. Sutherland's face, and she figged nervously at a fringe over Jacky. I met him first at the gas-fitters' ball, she said. They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us and sent him to Mother. Mr. Wendy Bank did not wish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join his Sunday school treat. But this time I was set on going, and I would go for what right had he to prevent. He said the folk were not fit for us to know when all furthest rains were to be there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear when I had my Puppet Plus that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At least when nothing else would do, he went off to friendship on the business of the farm. But we went, Mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angelo. I suppose, said Holmes, that when Mr. Wendy Bank came back from France, he was very annoyed that you were having gone to the ball. Oh well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders and said there was no use of anything to a woman, for she would have her way. I see. Then at the gas-fitters' ball, you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angelo. Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe. And after that, we met him. That is to say, Mr. Holmes. I met him twice for once. But after that, Father came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angelo could not come to the house anymore. No? Well, you know, Father didn't like anything of that sort. He would not have any visitors if he could help it. And he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But then, as I used to say to Mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with. And I had not got mine yet. But how about Mr. Hosmer Angelo? Did he make no attempt to see you? Well, Father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that he should be safe and better not to see each other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in the morning, so there was no need for Father to know. Were we engaged to the gentleman at this time? Oh yes, Mr. Holmes, we're engaged after the first work that we took. Hosmer, Mr. Angelo, was in cashier, in an office in Leidenholstreet. And what office? That is the worst of it, Mr. Holmes. I don't know. Where did he leave then? He slept on the premises. And you don't know his address? No, except that it was Leidenholstreet. Where did you address your letters then? To the Leidenholstreet post office. To the left he called for. He said that if they were sent to the office, he would be shafted by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady. So I offered to type read them, like he did his. But he wouldn't have that, for he said that when I wrote them, they seemed to come from me. But when they were type-written, he always felt that the machine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think of. It was most suggestive, said Holmes. It has long been an exam of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Holmes, Mr. Angelo? He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight. For he said that he had it to be conspicuous. Very returning and gentle, manly he was. Even his voice was gentle. He had had Quincy and swollen glands when he was young. He told me. And it had left him with a weak throat and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always well-dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as minor. And he wore tinted glasses against a glare. Well, and what happened when Mr. Windebank's stepfather returned to France? Mr. Holmes, my angel, came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest, and made me sure, with my hands on the testament, that whatever happened, I'd always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear. And that it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favor from the first, and was even fonder of him than I was. Then when the doctor married within the week, I began to ask about father. But they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards. And Mother said she would make it all right with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than me, but I didn't want to do anything on the sly. So I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company had its branch offices. But the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding. It missed him then. Yes, sir, father had started to England just before it arrived. Ah, that was unfortunate. Your reading was arranged then for the Friday. Was it to be in search? Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviours, near King's Cross, and where to have breakfast afterwards at St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in handsome. But as there were two of us, he put us both into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler. Which happened to be the only other cab in the street. We got to the chairs first. And when the four-wheeler drove up, we waited for him to step out. But he never did. And when the cab and got down from the box and looked, there was no one there. The cab and said he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him getting with his own eyes. That was lost, right, Mr. Holmes? And I have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what had become of him. It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated, said Holmes. Oh, no, sir. He was too good and kind to leave me, sir. While all the morning he was saying to me, Dad, whatever happened, I was to be true. And that if something quite unforeseen occurred to separators, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him. And that he would claim his place sooner or later. It seems strange, Doc, for a waiting morning. But what has happened since gives a meaning to it. Most certainly it does. Your opinion is then that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him. Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger. Or else he would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw had happened. But you have no notion as to what it could have been. None. One more question. How did your mother take the matter? She was angry and said that I was never to speak of the matter again. And your father, did you tell him? Yes, and he seemed to think with me that something had happened. And that I should hear of Osmer again. As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my money or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason. But Osmer was very independent about money. And never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not ride? Oh, he tripped and harped me to think of it. And I can sleep a wink at night. She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it. I shall glance into the case for you, said Holmes Rising. And I have no doubt that I shall read some definite result. Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now. And do not let your mind dwell upon father. Have I all tried to let Mr. Osmer and Jill vanish from your memory as he has done from your life? And you don't think I'll see him again? I fear not. Then what has happened to him? You'll leave that question in my hands. I should like any cure or description of him and any letters of his which you can spare. I advertised for him in last Saturday's chronicles, said C. Here is the slip and here are four letters from him. Thank you. Any address? Number 31, Lyon, please. Campbellville. Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's place of business? He travels full-waste house in Marbank, the great clarity portals of Venture Street. Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here and remember the advice which I have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book and do not allow it to affect your life. You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Osmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back. For all the preposterous hat and the vexuous face, there was something noble in the simple fate of our visitor which compelled our respect. She led her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned. Sherlock Holmes had silent for a few minutes so that his fingertips still pressed together. His legs stretched out in front of him and his cage directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe which was to him as a counselor and having lit it, he leaned back in his chair with the thick blue cloud red spinning up from him and the look of infinite languor in his face. Quite an interesting study that made it. I found her more interesting than her little problem which by the way is rather a tried one. You will find parallel cases if you consult my index in Andorra in 77. And there was something of the sort at the hag last year. All that is the idea however there were one or two details which are new to me but the maiden herself was most instructive. We appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me I remarked. Not invisible but unnoticed Watson. He didn't know what to look and so he missed all that was important. I can never bring you to realize the importance of sleeves the suggestiveness of thumbnails or the gritty shoes that may hang from a boot lace. Now what did you get her from that woman's appearance? Describe it. Well, she had a slate colored broad-brimmed straw hat with a feeder of brickish red her jacket was black with black beads sewn up on it and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress was brown and a darker than coffee color with a little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were creche and her one true at the right forefinger. Her boots I did not observe. She had small round hanging goal earrings and a general error being fairly well to do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way. Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled. Oh my lord Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. We have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything of importance but you have made up on the method. And you have a cookie for color. Never trust to generally presence my boy but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is for his better force to take the knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plush up on her sleeves which is a most useful material for showing traces. The double line and a little of the wrist where the typewriter's presses against the table was beautifully defined. The sewing machine of the hand type leaves a similar mark but only on the left arm. And on the side of it furthest from the thumb instead of being right across the broadest part as this was. I then glanced at her face and observing the dint of a pinched nears at either side of her nose I ventured the remark upon short side and typewriting which seemed to surprise her. It surprised me. But surely it was obvious. I was in much surprise and interested on glancing down to observe that two of the boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other. They were really odd ones. The one having a slightly decorated toe cap and the other a plain one. One is buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five and the other at the first third and fifth. Now when you see that a young lady otherwise neatly dressed has come away from home with odd boots, half buttoned and there's no great deduction to say that. She came away in a hurry. And what else? I asked keenly interested as I always was by my friend's incisive reasoning. I noted in passing that she had written a note before leaving home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger but it did not ever at all see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been this morning odd the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing to rather elementary. But I must go back to business Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hosmer and Zell? I had a little printed slip to the light. Missing, it said, on the morning of the fourteenth a gentleman named Hosmer and Zell, about five-fifth seven-ins in height, strongly built, shallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the center, bushy, black side whiskers and moustache. Tinted glasses, slightly in formity of speech, was dressed when less seen in black frock coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold-alba chain and gray-hairy-sweet trousers, with brown caterers over elastic side boots, known to have been employed in an office in Learden Hall Street. Anybody bringing, that will do, said Hosmer. As to the latters, he continued, glancing over them. They are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel save that he coats Baljak ones. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you. Dear type, written, I remarked. Not only that, but the signature is to have written. Look at the neat little Hosmer Angel at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no superscription except Learden Hall Street, which is rather vague. The point of a signature is very sensitive, in fact, we may call it conclusive. Of what? My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case? I cannot say that, I do, unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted. No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is to inform in the city. The other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windy Bank, asking whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. Now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we put our little problem up on the shelf for the interim. I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demariour with which he treated a single mystery which he had called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Iron Edler photograph. But when I looked back to the world business of the sign of war and extraordinary circumstances connected with the study in Scarlett, I felt that it would be a strange dangle indeed which he could not unravel. I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when I came again on the next evening, I would find that he held in his hands all the clues, which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Shudderland. A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time. And the whole of next day, I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a handsome and drive to backstreet, half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the tenement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep with his long, teen form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable area of bottles and test tubes with the pungent, cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work, which was so dear to him. Well, have you solved it? I asked as I entered. Yes, it was the by-sulfit of Berita. No, no, the mystery, I cried. Oh, then! I thought I'd solved that I had been working upon. There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no life here that can touch the scoundrel. Who was he then? And what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland? The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply when I heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door. This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Sweetybank, said Holmes. He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in. The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some 30 years of age, clean-shaven and shallow-skinned, with a bland insinuating manner and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating gray eyes. He shot a questioning glance at it so was, placed his shiny top hat up on the sideboard, and with his slight boughs, settled down into that nearest chair. Good evening, Mr. James Sweetybank. Said Holmes, I think that this type written letter is from you in which you made an appointment with me for six o'clock. Yes, sir. My afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Ms. Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter. For I think it is far better not to wash linen of that sort in public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I didn't mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police. But it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noiseless abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense. For how could you possibly find this Holmes-Marangel? On the contrary, said Holmes quietly, I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Holmes-Marangel. Mr. Whindy-Pink gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. I am delighted to hear it, he said. It is a curious thing, remarked Holmes, that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters got more one than others and some were only on one side. Now you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Whindy-Pink, that in every case there is some little slurring over the E and a slight defect in the tail of the R. There are 14 other characteristics, but those are the more obvious. Would you all are correspondents with this machine at the office? And no doubt it is a little worn. Or, visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes, so it is brightly realized. And now I'll show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Whindy-Pink. Holmes continued, I think of writing another little monograph, some of these days on a typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters, which purport to come from the missing man. They are all typewritten, and each case not only are the E-slurred and ours dailys, but you will observe if you care to use my magnifying lens that the 14 other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well. Mr. Whindy-Pink sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes, he said. If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it. Certainly, said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. I'll let you know then, that I have caught him. What? Where? Sorted Mr. Whindy-Pink, turning white to his leaves and clancing about him like a rat in a trap. Oh, it won't do, really it won't, said Holmes swayingly. There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Whindy-Pink. It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That is right. Sit down and let us talk it over. Our visitor collapsed into a cheer, with a costly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. It isn't actionable, he stammered. I am very much afraid that it is not, but between ourselves and the bank, it was as growling selfish and heartless as a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now let me just run over the course of the events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong. The man sat huddled up in his cheer, with his head sunk up on his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece, and leaning back with his hands in his pockets began talking, rather to himself as he seemed dead to us. The man married the woman very much older than himself for her money, said he, and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was considerable for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was what an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good amiable disposition, but affectionate and warmhearted in her ways, so that it was evident that, with her fair personal advantages and a little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year. So what does a stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. But soon he found that, that would not answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He concepts an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the carnivance and assistance of his wife, he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked his face with moustache and a pair of bushy hoist pairs, sung that clear voice into an insulating hoist pair, and doubly secured an account of the girl's short side. He appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps up other lovers by making love himself. It was only a joke at first, groaned our visitor. We never thought that she would have been so carried away. Very likely not. However, that may be. The young lady was very decidedly carried away on having quite made of her mind that her stepfather was in French. The suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. She was splattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it is obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it will go, if a real effect were to be produced. During meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept up forever. This pretend the journey is to French where rather cumbers. The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind, and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. Hence, those vows of fidelity ejected upon her testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. James, in the vanquished, may surroland to be so bound to host Marangel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come at any rate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the chair's door, he brought her, and then as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler, and out at the other. I think that was the chain of events, Mr. Windebank. Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance, while Holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now, with a cold sneer upon his pale face. It may be so, or it may be not, Mr. Holmes, said he. But if you were so very sharp, you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked, you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint. The lock cannot, as you said, touch you, said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, yet dear neighbor was a man who deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders, by Jove. He continued, flushing up at the sight of the bit was near upon the man's face. It is not part of my duties to my client, but here is a hunting-crawl handy, and I think I shall just treat myself too. He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it, there was a wild cater of steps upon the stairs. The heavy hall door banged, and from the window he could see Mr. James Windebank running at the top of his pit down the road. There is a cold blooded scoundrel, said Holmes, laughing as he drew himself down into his chair once more. That fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad and ends up on the gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not entirely the water of interest. I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning, I remarked. Well, of course, it is obvious from the first that this Mr. Holmes Morangell must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was such a stiff. So were the tainted spectacles and the curious voice, which put hint at the disguise, as did the bussy fish-curs. My suspicions were all conformed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which of course inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognize even the smallest sample of it. You see, all these isolated facts together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction. And how did you verify them? Having one spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the form for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description, I eliminated everything from it, which could be the result of disguise. The whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the form. They requested that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of the travelers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter. And I wrote to the man himself at his visitor's address, asking if he could come here. As expected, his reply was typewritten, and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me later from Westhousen Marbank of Fansha Street to say that the description tell it in every respect with that of their employee, James Winterbank, Walla too. And me, Switzerland? If I tell her, she will not believe me. You may remember the old person saying there is a danger for him who take at the tiger cub, and danger also for who so snatches a delusion from a woman. There is as much sense in her fees as in horrors, and as much knowledge of the world. And of a case of identity.