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books/sign.txt

                                 
                              THE SIGN OF THE FOUR

                               Arthur Conan Doyle

                                Table of contents

        The Science of Deduction

        The Statement of the Case

        In Quest of a Solution

        The Story of the Bald-Headed Man

        The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge

        Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

        The Episode of the Barrel

        The Baker Street Irregulars

        A Break in the Chain

        The End of the Islander

        The Great Agra Treasure

        The Strange Story of Jonathan Small

          CHAPTER I

          The Science of Deduction

     Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece

     and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,

     white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled

     back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested

     thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred

     with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point

     home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the

     velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

     Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance,

     but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from

     day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my

     conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked

     the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I

     should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the

     cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with

     whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His

     great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had

     of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and

     backward in crossing him.

     Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken

     with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme

     deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no

     longer.

     "Which is it to-day?" I asked,--"morphine or cocaine?"

     He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which

     he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-per-cent solution.

     Would you care to try it?"

     "No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution has not got

     over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra

     strain upon it."

     He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," he said.

     "I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it,

     however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind

     that its secondary action is a matter of small moment."

     "But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brain may,

     as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and

     morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at

     last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction

     comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why

     should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great

     powers with which you have been endowed?  Remember that I speak not

     only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man to one for whose

     constitution he is to some extent answerable."

     He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his fingertips

     together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who

     has a relish for conversation.

     "My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me

     work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate

     analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then

     with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of

     existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen

     my own particular profession,--or rather created it, for I am the

     only one in the world."

     "The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

     "The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered.  "I am the

     last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or

     Lestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by the

     way, is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine

     the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim

     no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work

     itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my

     highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my

     methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."

     "Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struck by anything

     in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat

     fantastic title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'"

     He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he.  "Honestly, I

     cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an

     exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional

     manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which

     produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an

     elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid."

     "But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I could not tamper with

     the facts."

     "Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of

     proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the

     case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from

     effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it."

     I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially

     designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the

     egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should

     be devoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years

     that I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small

     vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I made no

     remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail

     bullet through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me

     from walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.

     "My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said Holmes,

     after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted

     last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come

     rather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has

     all the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the

     wide range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher

     developments of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and

     possessed some features of interest. I was able to refer him to two

     parallel cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis

     in 1871, which have suggested to him the true solution. Here is the

     letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance." He

     tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I

     glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration,

     with stray magnifiques, coup-de-maîtres and tours-de-force, all

     testifying to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.

     "He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.

     "Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes,

     lightly. "He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of

     the three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the

     power of observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in

     knowledge; and that may come in time. He is now translating my small

     works into French."

     "Your works?"

     "Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have been guilty

     of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here,

     for example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the

     Various Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of

     cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with colored plates

     illustrating the difference in the ash. It is a point which is

     continually turning up in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of

     supreme importance as a clue. If you can say definitely, for example,

     that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an Indian

     lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search. To the trained eye

     there is as much difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly

     and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a

     potato."

     "You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," I remarked.

     "I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing

     of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as

     a preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon

     the influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes

     of the hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers,

     and diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest

     to the scientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed

     bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary

     you with my hobby."

     "Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatest interest

     to me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your

     practical application of it. But you spoke just now of observation

     and deduction. Surely the one to some extent implies the other."

     "Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his armchair,

     and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "For example,

     observation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street

     Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there

     you dispatched a telegram."

     "Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confess that I don't

     see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and

     I have mentioned it to no one."

     "It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my

     surprise,--"so absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous;

     and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation and of

     deduction. Observation tells me that you have a little reddish mould

     adhering to your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street Office they

     have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in

     such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering.

     The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which is found, as far as

     I know, nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much is observation. The

     rest is deduction."

     "How, then, did you deduce the telegram?"

     "Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat

     opposite to you all morning. I see also in your open desk there that

     you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of postcards.  What

     could you go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire?

     Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the

     truth."

     "In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a little thought.

     "The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest.  Would you

     think me impertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe

     test?"

     "On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from taking a

     second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any

     problem which you might submit to me."

     "I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any

     object in daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality

     upon it in such a way that a trained observer might read it. Now, I

     have here a watch which has recently come into my possession. Would

     you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or

     habits of the late owner?"

     I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in

     my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I

     intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he

     occasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard

     at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his

     naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep

     from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case

     to and handed it back.

     "There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been

     recently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts."

     "You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before being sent to

     me." In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most

     lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could he

     expect from an uncleaned watch?

     "Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren," he

     observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes.

     "Subject to your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged

     to your elder brother, who inherited it from your father."

     "That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?"

     "Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch is

     nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so

     it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually descents to the

     eldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as the

     father. Your father has, if I remember right, been dead many years.

     It has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother."

     "Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"

     "He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. He was

     left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for

     some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity,

     and finally, taking to drink, he died. That is all I can gather."

     I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with

     considerable bitterness in my heart.

     "This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could not have believed

     that you would have descended to this. You have made inquires into

     the history of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this

     knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that

     you have read all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to

     speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it."

     "My dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept my apologies. 

     Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how

     personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you,

     however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you

     handed me the watch."

     "Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these

     facts? They are absolutely correct in every particular."

     "Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance of

     probability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate."

     "But it was not mere guess-work?"

     "No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,--destructive to the

     logical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do

     not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which

     large inferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that

     your brother was careless. When you observe the lower part of that

     watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but

     it is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard

     objects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no

     great feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so

     cavalierly must be a careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched

     inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty

     well provided for in other respects."

     I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.

     "It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a

     watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point upon the

     inside of the case. It is more handy than a label, as there is no

     risk of the number being lost or transposed. There are no less than

     four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case.

     Inference,--that your brother was often at low water. Secondary

     inference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could

     not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner

     plate, which contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands of

     scratches all round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. What

     sober man's key could have scored those grooves? But you will never

     see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it at night, and he

     leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all

     this?"

     "It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret the injustice

     which I did you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous

     faculty. May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot

     at present?"

     "None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else

     is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a

     dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls

     down the street and drifts across the duncolored houses. What could

     be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having

     powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime

     is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those

     which are commonplace have any function upon earth."

     I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp

     knock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.

     "A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion.

     "Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection of the

     name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor. I

     should prefer that you remain."

          CHAPTER II

          The Statement of the Case

     Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward

     composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well

     gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a

     plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a

     suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige,

     untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull

     hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her

     face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but

     her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were

     singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which

     extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never

     looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and

     sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat

     which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand

     quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation.

     "I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you once enabled

     my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic

     complication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill."

     "Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believe that I

     was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember

     it, was a very simple one."

     "She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine.

     I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly

     inexplicable, than the situation in which I find myself."

     Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in

     his chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his

     clear-cut, hawklike features. "State your case," said he, in brisk,

     business tones.

     I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I am

     sure, excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.

     To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me.

     "If your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might

     be of inestimable service to me."

     I relapsed into my chair.

     "Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was an

     officer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite a

     child. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was

     placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at

     Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age.

     In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment,

     obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphed to me

     from London that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to come

     down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message,

     as I remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London I

     drove to the Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan was

     staying there, but that he had gone out the night before and had not

     yet returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night, on

     the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with the

     police, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. Our

     inquiries let to no result; and from that day to this no word has

     ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with his heart

     full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--" She

     put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.

     "The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.

     "He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten years

     ago."

     "His luggage?"

     "Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a

     clue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of

     curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers

     in charge of the convict-guard there."

     "Had he any friends in town?"

     "Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the

     34th Bombay Infantry. The major had retired some little time before,

     and lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but

     he did not even know that his brother officer was in England."

     "A singular case," remarked Holmes.

     "I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six

     years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--an advertisement

     appeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan and

     stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was

     no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the

     family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her

     advice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same

     day there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed

     to me, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No

     word of writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same

     date there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar

     pearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced

     by an expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You

     can see for yourselves that they are very handsome." She opened a

     flat box as she spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I

     had ever seen.

     "Your statement is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes.  "Has

     anything else occurred to you?"

     "Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you.  This

     morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for

     yourself."

     "Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too, please. Postmark,

     London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on corner,--probably

     postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet.

     Particular man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at the third pillar

     from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o'clock.

     If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman,

     and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be

     in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really, this is a very pretty

     little mystery.  What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?"

     "That is exactly what I want to ask you."

     "Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr. 

     Watson is the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I

     have worked together before."

     "But would he come?" she asked, with something appealing in her voice

     and expression.

     "I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently, "if I can be of any

     service."

     "You are both very kind," she answered. "I have led a retired life,

     and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it

     will do, I suppose?"

     "You must not be later," said Holmes. "There is one other point,

     however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box

     addresses?"

     "I have them here," she answered, producing half a dozen pieces of

     paper.

     "You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition.

     Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon the table, and gave

     little darting glances from one to the other. "They are disguised

     hands, except the letter," he said, presently, "but there can be no

     question as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will

     break out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by

     the same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss

     Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of

     your father?"

     "Nothing could be more unlike."

     "I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at

     six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter

     before then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then."

     "Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance from

     one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and

     hurried away. Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly

     down the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but a

     speck in the sombre crowd.

     "What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed, turning to my companion.

     He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping

     eyelids. "Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did not observe."

     "You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" I cried.

     "There is something positively inhuman in you at times."

     He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said, "not to

     allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is

     to me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities

     are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most

     winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little

     children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my

     acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a

     million upon the London poor."

     "In this case, however--"

     "I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you

     ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you make

     of this fellow's scribble?"

     "It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of business habits

     and some force of character."

     Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," he said. "They

     hardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l

     an e. Men of character always differentiate their long letters,

     however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k's and

     self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some few

     references to make. Let me recommend this book,--one of the most

     remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's Martyrdom of Man. I

     shall be back in an hour."

     I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were

     far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our

     late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the

     strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the

     time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty

     now,--a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and

     become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such

     dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk

     and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What

     was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account,

     that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a

     factor,--nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely

     to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere

     will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.

          CHAPTER III

          In Quest of a Solution

     It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager,

     and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with

     fits of the blackest depression.

     "There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking the cup

     of tea which I had poured out for him. "The facts appear to admit of

     only one explanation."

     "What! you have solved it already?"

     "Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive

     fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive. The details are

     still to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of

     the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th

     Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882."

     "I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests."

     "No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan

     disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is

     Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London.

     Four years later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death Captain

     Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated

     from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her

     as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this

     deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin

     immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heir

     knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? Have

     you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?"

     "But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too,

     should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the

     letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is

     too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other

     injustice in her case that you know of."

     "There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said

     Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night will

     solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is

     inside. Are you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a

     little past the hour."

     I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes

     took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It

     was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious

     one.

     Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was

     composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not

     feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were

     embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered

     the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.

     "Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said. "His

     letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in

     command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a

     great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa's

     desk which no one could understand. I don't suppose that it is of the

     slightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I

     brought it with me. It is here."

     Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his

     knee. He then very methodically examined it all over with his double

     lens.

     "It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked. "It has at

     some time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a

     plan of part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and

     passages. At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it

     is '3.37 from left,' in faded pencil-writing.  In the left-hand

     corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with

     their arms touching. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarse

     characters, 'The sign of the four,--Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh,

     Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess that I do not see how this

     bears upon the matter. Yet it is evidently a document of importance.

     It has been kept carefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as

     clean as the other."

     "It was in his pocket-book that we found it."

     "Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove to be of

     use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be

     much deeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I must

     reconsider my ideas." He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by

     his drawn brow and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss

     Morstan and I chatted in an undertone about our present expedition

     and its possible outcome, but our companion maintained his

     impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey.

     It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day

     had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great

     city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down

     the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which

     threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow

     glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous

     air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded

     thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like

     in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow

     bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human

     kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into

     the gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull,

     heavy evening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged,

     combined to make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss

     Morstan's manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes

     alone could rise superior to petty influences. He held his open

     note-book upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures

     and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.

     At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the

     side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and

     four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of

     shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly

     reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small,

     dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.

     "Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?" he asked.

     "I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my friends," said

     she.

     He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon

     us. "You will excuse me, miss," he said with a certain dogged manner,

     "but I was to ask you to give me your word that neither of your

     companions is a police-officer."

     "I give you my word on that," she answered.

     He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a

     four-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed us

     mounted to the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly

     done so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away

     at a furious pace through the foggy streets.

     The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place,

     on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a complete

     hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good

     reason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey.

     Miss Morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I

     endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures

     in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at

     our situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories

     were slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one

     moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of

     night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I

     had some idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon,

     what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of London,

     I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going

     a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never at fault, however, and he

     muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out

     by tortuous by-streets.

     "Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square. Now we come out on the

     Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side, apparently.

     Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses

     of the river."

     We did indeed bet a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames with the

     lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on,

     and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side.

     "Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane.

     Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not

     appear to take us to very fashionable regions."

     We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood.

     Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse

     glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. Then came

     rows of two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden,

     and then again interminable lines of new staring brick

     buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giant city was throwing

     out into the country. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a

     new terrace. None of the other houses were inhabited, and that at

     which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single

     glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking, however, the door was

     instantly thrown open by a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban,

     white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. There was something

     strangely incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in the

     commonplace door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.

     "The Sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke there came a

     high piping voice from some inner room. "Show them in to me,

     khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight in to me."

          CHAPTER IV

          The Story of the Bald-Headed Man

     We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and

     worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he

     threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the

     centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a

     bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining

     scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peak from

     fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as he stood, and his

     features were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but

     never for an instant in repose. Nature had given him a pendulous lip,

     and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove

     feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part

     of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the

     impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned his

     thirtieth year.

     "Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating, in a thin, high

     voice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A

     small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking.  An oasis of art

     in the howling desert of South London."

     We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into which

     he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a

     diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The richest and

     glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back

     here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting or Oriental

     vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that

     the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great

     tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern

     luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the corner. A

     lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from an almost

     invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned it

     filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor.

     "Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking and

     smiling. "That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And these

     gentlemen--"

     "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson."

     "A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you your stethoscope?

     Might I ask you--would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as

     to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may

     rely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral."

     I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find

     anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he

     shivered from head to foot. "It appears to be normal," I said. "You

     have no cause for uneasiness."

     "You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan," he remarked, airily.  "I

     am a great sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve.

     I am delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father,

     Miss Morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he

     might have been alive now."

     I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this

     callous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan

     sat down, and her face grew white to the lips. "I knew in my heart

     that he was dead," said she.

     "I can give you every information," said he, "and, what is more, I

     can do you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may

     say. I am so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to

     you, but also as witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The

     three of us can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us

     have no outsiders,--no police or officials. We can settle everything

     satisfactorily among ourselves, without any interference. Nothing

     would annoy Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity." He sat down

     upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery

     blue eyes.

     "For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may choose to say will go

     no further."

     I nodded to show my agreement.

     "That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer you a glass of

     Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I

     open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to

     tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am

     a little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative." He

     applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily

     through the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our

     heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands, while the strange,

     jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in

     the centre.

     "When I first determined to make this communication to you," said he,

     "I might have given you my address, but I feared that you might

     disregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the

     liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my

     man Williams might be able to see you first. I have complete

     confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if he were

     dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter. You will excuse

     these precautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and I might

     even say refined, tastes, and there is nothing more unaesthetic than

     a policeman. I have a natural shrinking from all forms of rough

     materialism. I seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. I live,

     as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around me. I may

     call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape is

     a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a

     doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least question

     about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school."

     "You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan, "but I am here

     at your request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is

     very late, and I should desire the interview to be as short as

     possible."

     "At the best it must take some time," he answered; "for we shall

     certainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall

     all go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is

     very angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to

     me. I had quite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine

     what a terrible fellow he is when he is angry."

     "If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well to start at

     once," I ventured to remark.

     He laughed until his ears were quite red. "That would hardly do," he

     cried. "I don't know what he would say if I brought you in that

     sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to

     each other. In the first place, I must tell you that there are

     several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can only

     lay the facts before you as far as I know them myself.

     "My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once of

     the Indian army. He retired some eleven years ago, and came to live

     at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India, and

     brought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection

     of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these

     advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My

     twin-brother Bartholomew and I were the only children.

     "I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the

     disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers,

     and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's, we discussed

     the case freely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations

     as to what could have happened. Never for an instant did we suspect

     that he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast,--that of all

     men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.

     "We did know, however, that some mystery--some positive

     danger--overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone,

     and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at

     Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them.

     He was once light-weight champion of England. Our father would never

     tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to

     men with wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver

     at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman

     canvassing for orders. We had to pay a large sum to hush the matter

     up. My brother and I used to think this a mere whim of my father's,

     but events have since led us to change our opinion.

     "Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a

     great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he

     opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in

     the letter we could never discover, but I could see as he held it

     that it was short and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered

     for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse,

     and towards the end of April we were informed that he was beyond all

     hope, and that he wished to make a last communication to us.

     "When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and

     breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come upon

     either side of the bed. Then, grasping our hands, he made a

     remarkable statement to us, in a voice which was broken as much by

     emotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in his own very

     words.

     "'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind at this

     supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan. The

     cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has

     withheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should have

     been hers. And yet I have made no use of it myself,--so blind and

     foolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been

     so dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another. See

     that chaplet dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even that

     I could not bear to part with, although I had got it out with the

     design of sending it to her. You, my sons, will give her a fair share

     of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing--not even the

     chaplet--until I am gone. After all, men have been as bad as this and

     have recovered.

     "'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'He had suffered

     for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I

     alone knew it. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of

     circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. I

     brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he

     came straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the

     station, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now

     dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of

     the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of

     his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand

     to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards,

     cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I

     stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he was dead.

     "'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do.

     My first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could

     not but recognize that there was every chance that I would be accused

     of his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in

     his head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could

     not be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which

     I was particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no

     soul upon earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no

     necessity why any soul ever should know.

     "'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my

     servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door

     behind him. "Do not fear, Sahib," he said. "No one need know that you

     have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "I did

     not kill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. "I

     heard it all, Sahib," said he. "I heard you quarrel, and I heard the

     blow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put

     him away together." That was enough to decide met. If my own servant

     could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good

     before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I

     disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the London

     papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan.

     You will see from what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the

     matter. My fault lies in the fact that we concealed not only the

     body, but also the treasure, and that I have clung to Morstan's share

     as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to make restitution. Put

     your ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in--At this

     instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes stared

     wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can never

     forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake keep him out'! We both

     stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A

     face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the

     whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was

     a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of

     concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards the window,

     but the man was gone. When we returned to my father his head had

     dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.

     "We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the

     intruder, save that just under the window a single footmark was

     visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might have

     thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face.

     We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof that there

     were secret agencies at work all round us. The window of my father's

     room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been

     rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the

     words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across it. What the phrase

     meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, we never knew. As far

     as we can judge, none of my father's property had been actually

     stolen, though everything had been turned out. My brother and I

     naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fear which

     haunted my father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery

     to us."

     The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully

     for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his

     extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father's death

     Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that

     she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of

     water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon

     the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an

     abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering

     eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day

     he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at

     least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr.

     Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious

     pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued

     between the puffs of his overgrown pipe.

     "My brother and I," said he, "were, as you may imagine, much excited

     as to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for

     months we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without

     discovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the

     hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We

     could judge the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which

     he had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had

     some little discussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and

     he was averse to part with them, for, between friends, my brother was

     himself a little inclined to my father's fault. He thought, too, that

     if we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and

     finally bring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade

     him to let me find out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detached

     pearl at fixed intervals, so that at least she might never feel

     destitute."

     "It was a kindly thought," said our companion, earnestly. "It was

     extremely good of you."

     The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. "We were your trustees,"

     he said. "That was the view which I took of it, though Brother

     Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty

     of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been

     such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion.

     'Le mauvais goût mène au crime.' The French have a very neat way of

     putting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went

     so far that I thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left

     Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me.

     Yesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme importance has

     occurred. The treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated

     with Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood

     and demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother

     Bartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors."

     Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious

     settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new

     development which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the

     first to spring to his feet.

     "You have done well, sir, from first to last," said he. "It is

     possible that we may be able to make you some small return by

     throwing some light upon that which is still dark to you. But, as

     Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the

     matter through without delay."

     Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his

     hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged

     topcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up,

     in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his

     attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which

     covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile

     and peaky face. "My health is somewhat fragile," he remarked, as he

     led the way down the passage. "I am compelled to be a

     valetudinarian."

     Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently

     prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace.

     Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above

     the rattle of the wheels.

     "Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "How do you think he found

     out where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was

     somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house,

     and made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be

     unaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of the

     building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of

     all the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space

     between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the

     total to more than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted

     for. These could only be at the top of the building. He knocked a

     hole, therefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room,

     and there, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above it,

     which had been sealed up and was known to no one. In the centre stood

     the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through

     the hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at

     not less than half a million sterling."

     At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another

     open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change

     from a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it

     was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am

     ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my

     heart turned as heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few

     halting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head

     drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a

     confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was

     pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring

     information as to the composition and action of innumerable quack

     nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his

     pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answers which I

     gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him

     against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil,

     while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However

     that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a

     jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door.

     "This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,

     as he handed her out.

          CHAPTER V

          The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge

     It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage of our

     night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind

     us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the

     westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a

     moon peeping occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to

     see for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the

     side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon our way.

     Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a

     very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow

     iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our

     guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.

     "Who is there?" cried a gruff voice from within.

     "It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this time."

     There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. The

     door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the

     opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his

     protruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes.

     "That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I had no orders

     about them from the master."

     "No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last night that I

     should bring some friends.

     "He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I have no

     orders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. I can

     let you in, but your friends must just stop where they are."

     This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him in

     a perplexed and helpless manner. "This is too bad of you, McMurdo!"

     he said. "If I guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the

     young lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this hour."

     "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably. "Folk may be

     friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the master's. He pays me well

     to do my duty, and my duty I'll do. I don't know none o' your

     friends."

     "Oh, yes you do, McMurdo," cried Sherlock Holmes, genially. "I don't

     think you can have forgotten me. Don't you remember the amateur who

     fought three rounds with you at Alison's rooms on the night of your

     benefit four years back?"

     "Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" roared the prize-fighter. "God's truth!

     how could I have mistook you? If instead o' standin' there so quiet

     you had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under

     the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a question. Ah, you're one that

     has wasted your gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you

     had joined the fancy."

     "You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of the

     scientific professions open to me," said Holmes, laughing. "Our

     friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am sure."

     "In you come, sir, in you come,--you and your friends," he answered.

     "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to be

     certain of your friends before I let them in."

     Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump

     of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a

     moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vast

     size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck

     a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and

     the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.

     "I cannot understand it," he said. "There must be some mistake. I

     distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is

     no light in his window. I do not know what to make of it."

     "Does he always guard the premises in this way?" asked Holmes.

     "Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the favorite son,

     you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have told him more

     than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's window up there where the

     moonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from

     within, I think."

     "None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint of a light in that little

     window beside the door."

     "Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old Mrs. Bernstone

     sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you would not mind

     waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go in together and

     she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed. But hush! what is

     that?"

     He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light

     flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and

     we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great

     black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and

     most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken whimpering of a

     frightened woman.

     "It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She is the only woman in the

     house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment." He hurried for the

     door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall old woman

     admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.

     "Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I am so glad you

     have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!" We heard her reiterated rejoicings

     until the door was closed and her voice died away into a muffled

     monotone.

     Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and

     peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which

     cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand

     was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two

     who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word

     or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of

     trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have

     marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural

     thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me,

     there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and

     protection. So we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there

     was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.

     "What a strange place!" she said, looking round.

     "It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loose in

     it. I have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near

     Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work."

     "And from the same cause," said Holmes. "These are the traces of the

     treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years looking

     for it. No wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit."

     At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholto

     came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his

     eyes.

     "There is something amiss with Bartholomew!" he cried. "I am

     frightened! My nerves cannot stand it." He was, indeed, half

     blubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping out from

     the great Astrakhan collar had the helpless appealing expression of a

     terrified child.

     "Come into the house," said Holmes, in his crisp, firm way.

     "Yes, do!" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. "I really do not feel equal to

     giving directions."

     We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood upon the

     left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up and down

     with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of

     Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.

     "God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with an hysterical sob.

     "It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this

     day!"

     Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few

     words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the

     others bloodless cheeks.

     "Master has locked himself in and will now answer me," she explained.

     "All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be

     alone; but an hour ago I feared that something was amiss, so I went

     up and peeped through the key-hole. You must go up, Mr.

     Thaddeus,--you must go up and look for yourself. I have seen Mr.

     Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I

     never saw him with such a face on him as that."

     Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholto's

     teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to

     pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees

     were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his

     lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to

     me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting

     which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step,

     holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss

     Morstan had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper.

     The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some

     length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it

     and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same

     slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our

     long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The third

     door was that which we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving

     any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and force it open. It

     was locked on the inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt,

     as we could see when we set our lamp up against it. The key being

     turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes

     bent down to it, and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of

     the breath.

     "There is something devilish in this, Watson," said he, more moved

     than I had ever before seen him. "What do you make of it?"

     I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was

     streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty

     radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the

     air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the very face

     of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the

     same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance.

     The features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and

     unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring

     to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So like was the face to

     that of our little friend that I looked round at him to make sure

     that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had

     mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins.

     "This is terrible!" I said to Holmes. "What is to be done?"

     "The door must come down," he answered, and, springing against it, he

     put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned, but did not

     yield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time

     it gave way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within

     Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.

     It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A double

     line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite

     the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners,

     test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in

     wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to have been broken,

     for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the

     air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set of

     steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath

     and plaster, and above them there was an opening in the ceiling large

     enough for a man to pass through. At the foot of the steps a long

     coil of rope was thrown carelessly together.

     By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was

     seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and

     that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold,

     and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only

     his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most

     fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar

     instrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a

     hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn

     sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced

     at it, and then handed it to me.

     "You see," he said, with a significant raising of the eyebrows.

     In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror, "The

     sign of the four."

     "In God's name, what does it all mean?" I asked.

     "It means murder," said he, stooping over the dead man. "Ah, I

     expected it. Look here!" He pointed to what looked like a long, dark

     thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.

     "It looks like a thorn," said I.

     "It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it is

     poisoned."

     I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skin

     so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of

     blood showed where the puncture had been.

     "This is all an insoluble mystery to me," said I. "It grows darker

     instead of clearer."

     "On the contrary," he answered, "it clears every instant. I only

     require a few missing links to have an entirely connected case."

     We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we entered the

     chamber. He was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of

     terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however,

     he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.

     "The treasure is gone!" he said. "They have robbed him of the

     treasure! There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him

     to do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him here last

     night, and I heard him lock the door as I came down-stairs."

     "What time was that?"

     "It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will be

     called in, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh,

     yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think so, gentlemen? Surely you

     don't think that it was I? Is it likely that I would have brought you

     here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!"

     He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive

     frenzy.

     "You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes, kindly,

     putting his hand upon his shoulder. "Take my advice, and drive down

     to the station to report this matter to the police. Offer to assist

     them in every way. We shall wait here until your return."

     The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him

     stumbling down the stairs in the dark.

          CHAPTER VI

          Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

     "Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour

     to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told

     you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of

     over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be something

     deeper underlying it."

     "Simple!" I ejaculated.

     "Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor

     expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner there, that your

     footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first

     place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not

     been opened since last night. How of the window?" He carried the lamp

     across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but

     addressing them to himself rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on

     the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us

     open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has

     mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the

     print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy

     mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See

     here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration."

     I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not a

     footmark," said I.

     "It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of a

     wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot

     with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the

     timber-toe."

     "It is the wooden-legged man."

     "Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and

     efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"

     I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on

     that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground,

     and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a

     crevice in the brick-work.

     "It is absolutely impossible," I answered.

     "Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who

     lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing

     one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you

     were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would

     depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up

     the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the

     inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor

     point it may be noted," he continued, fingering the rope, "that our

     wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional

     sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than

     one blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which I

     gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin

     off his hand."

     "This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes more

     unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he

     into the room?"

     "Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There are features of

     interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the

     commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals

     of crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggest themselves

     from India, and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia."

     "How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked, the window is

     inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"

     "The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had already considered

     that possibility."

     "How then?" I persisted.

     "You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "How

     often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible

     whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that

     he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also

     know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is

     no concealment possible. Whence, then, did he come?"

     "He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.

     "Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the

     kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches

     to the room above,--the secret room in which the treasure was found."

     He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he

     swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached

     down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.

     The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way

     and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin

     lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from

     beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner

     shell of the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any

     sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.

     "Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand

     against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out on to

     the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping

     at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which Number One

     entered. Let us see if we can find one other traces of his

     individuality."

     He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the

     second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face.

     For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes.

     The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked

     foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the

     size of those of an ordinary man.

     "Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid thing."

     He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I was staggered

     for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite natural. My memory

     failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is

     nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down."

     "What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked, eagerly,

     when we had regained the lower room once more.

     "My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a

     touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be

     instructive to compare results."

     "I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I answered.

     "It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand way.

     "I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will

     look." He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about

     the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long

     thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes

     gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and

     furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound

     picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible

     criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity

     against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As he

     hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out

     into a loud crow of delight.

     "We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very little

     trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the

     creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here

     at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked,

     You see, and the stuff has leaked out."

     "What then?" I asked.

     "Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog that would

     follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed

     herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow

     so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of

     three. The answer should give us the--But halloo! here are the

     accredited representatives of the law."

     Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below,

     and the hall door shut with a loud crash.

     "Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this

     poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?"

     "The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.

     "Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding

     the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face,

     this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers

     called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?"

     "Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I answered,--"some

     strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus."

     "That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn

     muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for

     the means by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, I

     discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force

     into the scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would

     be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in

     his chair. Now examine the thorn."

     I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was

     long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though

     some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been

     trimmed and rounded off with a knife.

     "Is that an English thorn?" he asked.

     "No, it certainly is not."

     "With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference.

     But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a

     retreat."

     As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on

     the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode

     heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a

     pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from

     between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an

     inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.

     "Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. "Here's a

     pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as

     full as a rabbit-warren!"

     "I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes,

     quietly.

     "Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the

     theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on

     causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's

     true you set us on the right track; but you'll own now that it was

     more by good luck than good guidance."

     "It was a piece of very simple reasoning."

     "Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all

     this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no room for

     theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another

     case! I was at the station when the message arrived. What d'you think

     the man died of?"

     "Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said Holmes,

     dryly.

     "No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head

     sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a

     million missing. How was the window?"

     "Fastened; but there are steps on the sill."

     "Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do

     with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit;

     but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes

     come upon me at times.--Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr.

     Sholto. Your friend can remain.--What do you think of this, Holmes?

     Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The

     brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure.

     How's that?"

     "On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door

     on the inside."

     "Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter.

     This Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel; so

     much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much

     also we know. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him.

     His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most

     disturbed state of mind. His appearance is--well, not attractive. You

     see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close

     upon him."

     "You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes.

     "This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be

     poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; this

     card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay

     this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit

     into your theory?"

     "Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective, pompously.

     "House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and

     if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made

     murderous use of it as any other man. The card is some

     hocus-pocus,--a blind, as like as not. The only question is, how did

     he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof." With great

     activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed

     through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his

     exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door.

     "He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders.

     "He has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pas des sots si

     incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!"

     "You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again.

     "Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view of the case

     is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with the roof, and

     it is partly open."

     "It was I who opened it."

     "Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He seemed a little crestfallen

     at the discovery. "Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our

     gentleman got away. Inspector!"

     "Yes, sir," from the passage.

     "Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to

     inform you that anything which you may say will be used against you.

     I arrest you in the Queen's name as being concerned in the death of

     your brother."

     "There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the poor little man, throwing

     out his hands, and looking from one to the other of us.

     "Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes. "I think

     that I can engage to clear you of the charge."

     "Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don't promise too much!"

     snapped the detective. "You may find it a harder matter than you

     think."

     "Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free

     present of the name and description of one of the two people who were

     in this room last night. His name, I have every reason to believe, is

     Jonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his

     right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the

     inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an

     iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned,

     and has been a convict. These few indications may be of some

     assistance to you, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of

     skin missing from the palm of his hand. The other man--"

     "Ah! the other man--?" asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering voice, but

     impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of

     the other's manner.

     "Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his

     heel. "I hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the

     pair of them. A word with you, Watson."

     He led me out to the head of the stair. "This unexpected occurrence,"

     he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose

     of our journey."

     "I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not right that

     Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house."

     "No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester,

     in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will wait for you here

     if you will drive out again. Or perhaps you are too tired?"

     "By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more of this

     fantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side of life,

     but I give you my word that this quick succession of strange

     surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should like,

     however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got so

     far."

     "Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "We

     shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to

     exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct. When you

     have dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane,

     down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The third house on the

     right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is the name. You will

     see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman

     up, and tell him, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You

     will bring Toby back in the cab with you."

     "A dog, I suppose."

     "Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. I would

     rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of

     London."

     "I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to be back

     before three, if I can get a fresh horse."

     "And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can learn from Mrs.

     Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me,

     sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the great Jones's

     methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. 'Wir sind

     gewohnt, daß die Menschen verhöhnen was sie nicht verstehen.' Goethe

     is always pithy."

          CHAPTER VII

          The Episode of the Barrel

     The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted Miss

     Morstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she had

     borne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weaker

     than herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the

     side of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first

     turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely

     had she been tried by the adventures of the night. She has told me

     since that she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. She

     little guessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of

     self-restraint which held me back. My sympathies and my love went out

     to her, even as my hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the

     conventionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave

     nature as had this one day of strange experiences. Yet there were two

     thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was

     weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a

     disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still,

     she was rich. If Holmes's researches were successful, she would be an

     heiress. Was it fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon

     should take such advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought

     about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I

     could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind.

     This Agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us.

     It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The

     servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so

     interested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received

     that she had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door

     herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how

     tenderly her arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was

     the voice in which she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid

     dependant, but an honored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs.

     Forrester earnestly begged me to step in and tell her our adventures.

     I explained, however, the importance of my errand, and promised

     faithfully to call and report any progress which we might make with

     the case. As we drove away I stole a glance back, and I still seem to

     see that little group on the step, the two graceful, clinging

     figures, the half-opened door, the hall light shining through stained

     glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to

     catch even that passing glimpse of a tranquil English home in the

     midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed us.

     And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it

     grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I

     rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original

     problem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain

     Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the

     letter,--we had had light upon all those events. They had only led

     us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian

     treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange

     scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery of the treasure

     immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the very

     singular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable

     weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those upon

     Captain Morstan's chart,--here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man

     less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of

     ever finding the clue.

     Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the

     lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3

     before I could make my impression. At last, however, there was the

     glint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the

     upper window.

     "Go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face. "If you kick up any

     more row I'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon

     you."

     "If you'll let one out it's just what I have come for," said I.

     "Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious, I have a wiper in

     the bag, an' I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook it."

     "But I want a dog," I cried.

     "I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now stand clear, for

     when I say 'three,' down goes the wiper."

     "Mr. Sherlock Holmes--" I began, but the words had a most magical

     effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute

     the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old

     man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted

     glasses.

     "A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome," said he.  "Step in,

     sir. Keep clear of the badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty,

     would you take a nip at the gentleman?" This to a stoat which thrust

     its wicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. "Don't

     mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It hain't got no fangs, so I

     gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the bettles down. You must

     not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm guyed

     at by the children, and there's many a one just comes down this lane

     to knock me up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"

     "He wanted a dog of yours."

     "Ah! that would be Toby."

     "Yes, Toby was the name."

     "Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here." He moved slowly forward with

     his candle among the queer animal family which he had gathered round

     him. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there

     were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny

     and corner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn

     fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other as

     our voices disturbed their slumbers.

     Toby proved to an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel

     and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy

     waddling gait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar

     which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an

     alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about

     accompanying me. It had just struck three on the Palace clock when I

     found myself back once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The

     ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been arrested as an accessory,

     and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off to the station. Two

     constables guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with

     the dog on my mentioning the detective's name.

     Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets,

     smoking his pipe.

     "Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Athelney Jones

     has gone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. He

     has arrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the

     housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves,

     but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog here, and come up."

     We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The room

     was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the

     central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the

     corner.

     "Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion. "Now tie this

     bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank

     you. Now I must kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you carry them

     down with you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip my

     handkerchief into the creasote. That will do. Now come up into the

     garret with me for a moment."

     We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once more

     upon the footsteps in the dust.

     "I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "Do you

     observe anything noteworthy about them?"

     "They belong," I said, "to a child or a small woman."

     "Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?"

     "They appear to be much as other footmarks."

     "Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the

     dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief

     difference?"

     "Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toe

     distinctly divided."

     "Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you

     kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the

     wood-work? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in my

     hand."

     I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry

     smell.

     "That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him,

     I should think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run

     down-stairs, loose the dog, and look out for Blondin."

     By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on

     the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling

     very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of

     chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more

     upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him

     seated at one of the corner eaves.

     "That You, Watson?" he cried.

     "Yes."

     "This is the place. What is that black thing down there?"

     "A water-barrel."

     "Top on it?"

     "Yes."

     "No sign of a ladder?"

     "No."

     "Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place. I ought to be

     able to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels

     pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow."

     There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadily

     down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to the

     barrel, and from there to the earth.

     "It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings and

     boots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he

     had dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express

     it."

     The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven

     out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it.

     In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were

     half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the

     other, like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.

     "They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don't prick

     yourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they

     are all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in

     our skin before long. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself.

     Are you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?"

     "Certainly," I answered.

     "Your leg will stand it?"

     "Oh, yes."

     "Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!" He

     pushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the

     creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most

     comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of

     a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance,

     fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and let him to the

     foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a

     succession of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the

     ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at a

     pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed.

     The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some

     distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its

     black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and

     forlorn, behind us. Our course let right across the grounds, in and

     out among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred and

     intersected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and

     ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized

     with the black tragedy which hung over it.

     On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,

     underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a

     young beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had been

     loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the

     lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder.

     Holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over

     upon the other side.

     "There's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked, as I mounted

     up beside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon the white

     plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain

     since yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of their

     eight-and-twenty hours' start."

     I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the great

     traffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My

     fears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved,

     but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent

     smell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents.

     "Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success in this

     case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot

     in the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to trace

     them in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest and,

     since fortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I

     neglected it. It has, however, prevented the case from becoming the

     pretty little intellectual problem which it at one time promised to

     be. There might have been some credit to be gained out of it, but for

     this too palpable clue."

     "There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes, that

     I marvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case,

     even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thing seems to

     me to be deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you

     describe with such confidence the wooden-legged man?"

     "Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish to be

     theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are in

     command of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried

     treasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named Jonathan

     Small. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain

     Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself and his

     associates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called

     it. Aided by this chart, the officers--or one of them--gets the

     treasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some

     condition under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did

     not Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious.

     The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into close

     association with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the treasure

     because he and his associates were themselves convicts and could not

     get away."

     "But that is mere speculation," said I.

     "It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the

     facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto

     remains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of his

     treasure. Then he receives a letter from India which gives him a

     great fright. What was that?"

     "A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free."

     "Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have known

     what their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a

     surprise to him. What does he do then? He guards himself against a

     wooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white

     tradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one

     white man's name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or

     Mohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with

     confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with Jonathan

     Small. Does the reasoning strike yo as being faulty?"

     "No: it is clear and concise."

     "Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let

     us look at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the

     double idea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and

     of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out

     where Sholto lived, and very possibly he established communications

     with some one inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom

     we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character.

     Small could not find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no

     one ever knew, save the major and one faithful servant who had died.

     Suddenly Small learns that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy

     lest the secret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of

     the guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is only

     deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons. Mad with

     hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the room that night,

     searches his private papers in the hope of discovering some

     memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a memento of

     his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He had doubtless

     planned beforehand that should he slay the major he would leave some

     such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a common murder,

     but, from the point of view of the four associates, something in the

     nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this

     kind are common enough in the annals of crime, and usually afford

     valuable indications as to the criminal. Do you follow all this?"

     "Very clearly."

     "Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep a

     secret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he

     leaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the

     discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again

     trace the presence of some confederate in the household. Jonathan,

     with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty room of

     Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather curious

     associate, who gets over this difficulty, but dips his naked foot

     into creasote, whence come Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay

     officer with a damaged tendo Achillis."

     "But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who committed the

     crime."

     "Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way the

     stamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge against

     Bartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred if he could have been

     simply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter.

     There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his

     companion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so

     Jonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the

     ground, and followed it himself. That was the train of events as far

     as I can decipher them. Of course as to his personal appearance he

     must be middle-aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in

     such an oven as the Andamans. His height is readily calculated from

     the length of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His

     hairiness was the one point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus

     Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know that there is

     anything else."

     "The associate?"

     "Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know all

     about it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one

     little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo.

     Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank.

     It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a

     stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty

     ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces

     of nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?"

     "Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle."

     "That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes one

     curious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of man's real

     greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, you

     see, a power of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a

     proof of nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You

     have not a pistol, have you?"

     "I have my stick."

     "It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get

     to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns

     nasty I shall shoot him dead." He took out his revolver as he spoke,

     and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into the

     right-hand pocket of his jacket.

     We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down the

     half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now,

     however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where

     laborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were

     taking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped

     corner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking

     men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after

     their morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly

     at us as we passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the

     right nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the

     ground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.

     We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found

     ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the

     side-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed

     to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of

     escaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if a

     parallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of

     Kennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street

     and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place,

     Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with

     one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture of canine

     indecision. Then he waddled round in circles, looking up to us from

     time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his embarrassment.

     "What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes. "They

     surely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon."

     "Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested.

     "Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion, in a tone of

     relief.

     He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up

     his mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he

     had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before,

     for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his

     leash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam in

     Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey.

     Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick and

     Nelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here

     the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate

     into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the

     dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a

     passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp,

     sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on

     which it had been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes,

     Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for

     some sign of appreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of

     the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was

     heavy with the smell of creasote.

     Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burst

     simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

          CHAPTER VIII

          The Baker Street Irregulars

     "What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character for infallibility."

     "He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting him down

     from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you

     consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is

     no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much

     used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to

     blame."

     "We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."

     "Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently what

     puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were

     two different trails running in opposite directions. We took the

     wrong one. It only remains to follow the other."

     There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place

     where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and

     finally dashed off in a fresh direction.

     "We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where

     the creasote-barrel came from," I observed.

     "I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement,

     whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true

     scent now."

     It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place

     and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to

     the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us

     to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the

     dark current beyond.

     "We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boat here."

     Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on

     the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but,

     though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.

     Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a

     wooden placard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith"

     was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to

     hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above the door

     informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement which was

     confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes

     looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression.

     "This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than I

     expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear,

     been preconcerted management here."

     He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a

     little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a

     stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.

     "You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back, you

     young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that,

     he'll let us hear of it."

     "Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What a rosy-cheeked

     young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?"

     The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," said he.

     "Nothing you would like better?"

     "I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after some

     thought.

     "Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!"

     "Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too

     much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a

     time."

     "Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry for

     that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."

     "He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I

     am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a

     boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well."

     "I wanted to hire his steam launch."

     "Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone.

     That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her than

     would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been away in the

     barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as

     far as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha'

     stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?"

     "He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."

     "He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard him

     call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I

     don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish

     talk. What did he want always knockin' about here for?"

     "A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise.

     "Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for

     my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's

     more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I

     tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it."

     "But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "You

     are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell

     that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't

     quite understand how you can be so sure."

     "His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy.

     He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show a leg,

     matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man woke up

     Jim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a

     word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones."

     "And was this wooden-legged man alone?"

     "Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."

     "I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have

     heard good reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?"

     "The Aurora, sir."

     "Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad

     in the beam?"

     "No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river. She's

     been fresh painted, black with two red streaks."

     "Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going

     down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall

     let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?"

     "No, sir. Black with a white band."

     "Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.

     Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take

     it and cross the river.

     "The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as we sat in

     the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that their

     information can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do,

     they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them

     under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want."

     "Our course now seems pretty clear," said I.

     "What would you do, then?"

     "I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the

     Aurora."

     "My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at

     any wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.

     Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for

     miles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set

     about it alone."

     "Employ the police, then."

     "No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He

     is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would

     injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out

     myself, now that we have gone so far."

     "Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?"

     "Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their

     heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are

     likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly

     safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us

     there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily

     press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong

     scent."

     "What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we landed near Millbank

     Penitentiary.

     "Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's

     sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again.

     Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be

     of use to us yet."

     We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes

     despatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked, as we

     resumed our journey.

     "I am sure I don't know."

     "You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force

     whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"

     "Well," said I, laughing.

     "This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail,

     I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to

     my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his

     gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast."

     It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of a

     strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was

     limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the

     professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I

     look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as

     the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him,

     and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure,

     however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged

     rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it

     I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it

     it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a

     petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as

     that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold

     stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

     A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up

     wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid

     and Holmes pouring out the coffee.

     "Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper.

     "The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up

     between them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your

     ham and eggs first."

     I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed

     "Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."

     "About twelve o'clock last night," said the Standard, "Mr.

     Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found

     dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. As far

     as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr.

     Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the

     deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried

     off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr.

     Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother

     of the deceased. By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney

     Jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened

     to be at the Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground within

     half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced

     faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the

     criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus

     Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper,

     Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or

     gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or

     thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's

     well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation

     have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not

     have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their

     way across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into

     a room which communicated with that in which the body was found. This

     fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that

     it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of

     the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on

     such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but

     think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our

     detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more

     effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to

     investigate."

     "Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. "What

     do you think of it?"

     "I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested

     for the crime."

     "So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should happen

     to have another of his attacks of energy."

     At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear

     Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of

     expostulation and dismay.

     "By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they are

     really after us."

     "No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,--the

     Baker Street irregulars."

     As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the

     stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and

     ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among

     them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in

     line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number,

     taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of

     lounging superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable

     little carecrow.

     "Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp. Three

     bob and a tanner for tickets."

     "Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In future they

     can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house

     invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all

     hear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam

     launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red

     streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the river

     somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage

     opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it

     out among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the

     moment you have news. Is that all clear?"

     "Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins.

     "The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.

     Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!" He handed them a shilling

     each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a moment

     later streaming down the street.

     "If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes, as he

     rose from the table and lit his pipe. "They can go everywhere, see

     everything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening that

     they have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but await

     results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the

     Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith."

     "Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,

     Holmes?"

     "No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember

     feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am

     going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair

     client has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours

     ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man

     must, I should think, be absolutely unique."

     "That other man again!"

     "I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. But you

     must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.

     Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet,

     stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What

     do you make of all this?"

     "A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians who were the

     associates of Jonathan Small."

     "Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strange weapons I

     was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the

     footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants

     of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such

     marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The

     sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the

     others, because the thong is commonly passed between. These little

     darts, too, could only be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe.

     Now, then, where are we to find our savage?"

     "South American," I hazarded.

     He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the

     shelf. "This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being

     published. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What

     have we here? 'Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of

     Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum!  What's all this? Moist

     climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland

     Island, cottonwoods--Ah, here we are. 'The aborigines of the Andaman

     Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race

     upon this earth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of

     Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians.

     The average height is rather below four feet, although many

     full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this.

     They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of

     forming most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been

     gained.' Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen to this. 'They are

     naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes,

     and distorted features. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably

     small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the

     British official have failed to win them over in any degree. They

     have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the

     survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their

     poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by a

     cannibal feast.' Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had

     been left to his own unaided devices this affair might have taken an

     even more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small

     would give a good deal not to have employed him."

     "But how came he to have so singular a companion?"

     "Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had already

     determined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so very

     wonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shall

     know all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly

     done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep."

     He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out

     he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt,

     for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague

     remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and

     fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a

     soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet

     face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.

          CHAPTER IX

          A Break in the Chain

     It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and

     refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save

     that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked

     across at me, as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and

     troubled.

     "You have slept soundly," he said. "I feared that our talk would wake

     you."

     "I heard nothing," I answered. "Have you had fresh news, then?"

     "Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. I

     expected something definite by this time.  Wiggins has just been up

     to report. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a

     provoking check, for every hour is of importance."

     "Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for

     another night's outing."

     "No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves, the

     message might come in our absence, and delay be caused. You can do

     what you will, but I must remain on guard."

     "Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. Cecil

     Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday."

     "On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?" asked Holmes, with the twinkle of a smile

     in his eyes.

     "Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious to hear what

     happened."

     "I would not tell them too much," said Holmes. "Women are never to be

     entirely trusted,--not the best of them."

     I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. "I shall be

     back in an hour or two," I remarked.

     "All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the river you

     may as well return Toby, for I don't think it is at all likely that

     we shall have any use for him now."

     I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a

     half-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. At

     Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night's

     adventures, but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was

     full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing,

     however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I

     spoke of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of the exact manner and

     method of it. With all my omissions, however, there was enough to

     startle and amaze them.

     "It is a romance!" cried Mrs. Forrester. "An injured lady, half a

     million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian.

     They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl."

     "And two knight-errants to the rescue," added Miss Morstan, with a

     bright glance at me.

     "Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I

     don't think that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it

     must be to be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!"

     It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed

     no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss

     of her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took

     small interest.

     "It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious," she said. "Nothing

     else is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most

     kindly and honorably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this

     dreadful and unfounded charge."

     It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I

     reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his chair, but he

     had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but

     there was none.

     "I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out," I said to Mrs. 

     Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.

     "No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir," sinking

     her voice into an impressive whisper, "I am afraid for his health?"

     "Why so, Mrs. Hudson?"

     "Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he

     walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound

     of his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering,

     and every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with 'What

     is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has slammed off to his room, but I

     can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he's not going to

     be ill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cooling

     medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don't

     know how ever I got out of the room."

     "I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson," I

     answered. "I have seen him like this before. He has some small matter

     upon his mind which makes him restless." I tried to speak lightly to

     our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through

     the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his

     tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this

     involuntary inaction.

     At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of

     feverish color upon either cheek.

     "You are knocking yourself up, old man," I remarked. "I heard you

     marching about in the night."

     "No, I could not sleep," he answered. "This infernal problem is

     consuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle,

     when all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch,

     everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at

     work, and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has been

     searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith

     heard of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that they

     have scuttled the craft. But there are objections to that."

     "Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent."

     "No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there

     is a launch of that description."

     "Could it have gone up the river?"

     "I have considered that possibility too, and there is a search-party

     who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day, I shall

     start off myself to-morrow, and go for the men rather than the boat.

     But surely, surely, we shall hear something."

     We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or

     from the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers

     upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to

     the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found,

     however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the

     following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report

     our ill success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes

     dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions,

     and busied himself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which

     involved much heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at

     last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the

     small hours of the morning I could hear the clinking of his

     test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous

     experiment.

     In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him

     standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a

     pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his neck.

     "I am off down the river, Watson," said he. "I have been turning it

     over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth

     trying, at all events."

     "Surely I can come with you, then?" said I.

     "No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my

     representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that

     some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent

     about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and

     to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon

     you?"

     "Most certainly."

     "I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can

     hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I

     may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other

     before I get back."

     I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening the

     Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the

     business.

     "With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy," it remarked, "we have

     reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex

     and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown

     that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been

     in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs.

     Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed,

     however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and

     that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard,

     with all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be

     expected at any moment."

     "That is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought I. "Friend Sholto

     is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be; though it

     seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a

     blunder."

     I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye

     caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:

     "Lost.--Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, left

     Smith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in the

     steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a

     white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can

     give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 221b Baker

     Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the

     launch Aurora."

     This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street address was enough

     to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be

     read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the

     natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.

     It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, or a

     sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes

     returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my

     thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the

     ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there

     be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning. Might

     he be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible

     that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory

     upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong; and yet the

     keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I

     thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his

     logic,--his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a

     plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the

     other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the

     reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of

     curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all

     tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that

     even if Holmes's explanation were incorrect the true theory must be

     equally outré and startling.

     At three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell,

     an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a

     person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was

     he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense

     who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His

     expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.

     "Good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I

     understand."

     "Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you

     would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars."

     "Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he, mopping his face with a

     red bandanna handkerchief.

     "And a whiskey-and-soda?"

     "Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have

     had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this

     Norwood case?"

     "I remember that you expressed one."

     "Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn

     tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the

     middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be

     shaken. From the time that he left his brother's room he was never

     out of sight of some one or other. So it could not be he who climbed

     over roofs and through trap-doors. It's a very dark case, and my

     professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little

     assistance."

     "We all need help sometimes," said I.

     "Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir," said he,

     in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man who is not to be beat.

     I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never

     saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is

     irregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at

     theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most

     promising officer, and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wire

     from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some

     clue to this Sholto business. Here is the message."

     He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was

     dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock. "Go to Baker Street at once," it

     said. "If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track

     of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be

     in at the finish."

     "This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again," said

     I.

     "Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed Jones, with evident

     satisfaction. "Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of

     course this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an

     officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one

     at the door. Perhaps this is he."

     A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and

     rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or

     twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at

     last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance

     corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man,

     clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his

     throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing

     was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his

     shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had

     a colored scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face

     save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and

     long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a

     respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.

     "What is it, my man?" I asked.

     He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.

     "Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" said he.

     "No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have

     for him."

     "It was to him himself I was to tell it," said he.

     "But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai

     Smith's boat?"

     "Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where the men he is after

     are. An' I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it."

     "Then tell me, and I shall let him know."

     "It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated, with the petulant

     obstinacy of a very old man.

     "Well, you must wait for him."

     "No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.

     Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself.

     I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won't tell a

     word."

     He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.

     "Wait a bit, my friend," said he. "You have important information,

     and you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or

     not, until our friend returns."

     The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney

     Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness

     of resistance.

     "Pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried, stamping his stick. "I

     come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my

     life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!"

     "You will be none the worse," I said. "We shall recompense you for

     the loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not

     have long to wait."

     He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face

     resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.

     Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us.

     "I think that you might offer me a cigar too," he said.

     We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us

     with an air of quiet amusement.

     "Holmes!" I exclaimed. "You here! But where is the old man?"

     "Here is the old man," said he, holding out a heap of white hair.

     "Here he is,--wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise

     was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that

     test."

     "Ah, you rogue!" cried Jones, highly delighted. "You would have made

     an actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and

     those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew

     the glint of your eye, though. You didn't get away from us so easily,

     you see."

     "I have been working in that get-up all day," said he, lighting his

     cigar. "You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know

     me,--especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my

     cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise

     like this. You got my wire?"

     "Yes; that was what brought me here."

     "How has your case prospered?"

     "It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my

     prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two."

     "Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But

     you must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the

     official credit, but you must act on the line that I point out. Is

     that agreed?"

     "Entirely, if you will help me to the men."

     "Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat--a

     steam launch--to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o'clock."

     "That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but I can

     step across the road and telephone to make sure."

     "Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance."

     "There will be two or three in the boat. What else?"

     "When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it

     would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the

     young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the

     first to open it.--Eh, Watson?"

     "It would be a great pleasure to me."

     "Rather an irregular proceeding," said Jones, shaking his head.

     "However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at

     it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities

     until after the official investigation."

     "Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much

     like to have a few details about this matter from the lips of

     Jonathan Small himself. You know I like to work the detail of my

     cases out. There is no objection to my having an unofficial interview

     with him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is

     efficiently guarded?"

     "Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of

     the existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him I

     don't see how I can refuse you an interview with him."

     "That is understood, then?"

     "Perfectly. Is there anything else?"

     "Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in

     half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a

     little choice in white wines.--Watson, you have never yet recognized

     my merits as a housekeeper."

          CHAPTER X

          The End of the Islander

     Our meal was a merry one. Holmes coud talk exceedingly well when he

     chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of

     nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on

     a quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, on medieval

     pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on

     the war-ships of the future,--handling each as though he had made a

     special study of it. His bright humor marked the reaction from his

     black depression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a

     sociable soul in his hours of relaxation, and face his dinner with

     the air of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought

     that we were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of

     Holmes's gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause which

     had brought us together.

     When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at this watch, and filled

     up three glasses with port. "One bumper," said he, "to the success of

     our little expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you

     a pistol, Watson?"

     "I have my old service-revolver in my desk."

     "You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that

     the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six."

     It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf,

     and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.

     "Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?"

     "Yes,--that green lamp at the side."

     "Then take it off."

     The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were

     cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at

     the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors

     forward.

     "Where to?" asked Jones.

     "To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson's Yard."

     Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines

     of loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with

     satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.

     "We ought to be able to catch anything on the river," he said.

     "Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us."

     "We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for being a

     clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how

     annoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?"

     "Yes."

     "Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical

     analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of

     work is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving

     the hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of

     the Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been

     up the river and down the river without result. The launch was not at

     any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly

     have been scuttled to hide their traces,--though that always remained

     as a possible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small

     had a certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable

     of anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a

     product of higher education. I then reflected that since he had

     certainly been in London some time--as we had evidence that he

     maintained a continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge--he could hardly

     leave at a moment's notice, but would need some little time, if it

     were only a day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance of

     probability, at any rate."

     "It seems to me to be a little weak," said I. "It is more probable

     that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his

     expedition."

     "No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a

     retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that

     he could do without it. But a second consideration struck me.

     Jonathan Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his

     companion, however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise

     to gossip, and possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He

     was quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from their

     head-quarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back

     before it was broad light. Now, it was past three o'clock, according

     to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and

     people would be about in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did

     not go very far. They paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved

     his launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with

     the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they had time to see

     what view the papers took, and whether there was any suspicion, they

     would make their way under cover of darkness to some ship at

     Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they had already arranged

     for passages to America or the Colonies."

     "But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings."

     "Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in

     spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small,

     and looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably

     consider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would

     make pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How,

     then, could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when

     wanted? I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I

     could only think of one way of doing it. I might land the launch over

     to some boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling

     change in her. She would then be removed to his shed or hard, and so

     be effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at

     a few hours' notice."

     "That seems simple enough."

     "It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be

     overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at

     once in this harmless seaman's rig and inquired at all the yards down

     the river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the

     sixteenth--Jacobson's--I learned that the Aurora had been handed over

     to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial

     directions as to her rudder. 'There ain't naught amiss with her

     rudder,' said the foreman. 'There she lies, with the red streaks.' At

     that moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing

     owner? He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of course,

     have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of his

     launch. 'I want her to-night at eight o'clock,' said he,--'eight

     o'clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who won't be kept

     waiting.' They had evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of

     money, chucking shillings about to the men. I followed him some

     distance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so I went back to the

     yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the way, I

     stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand at water's

     edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall be

     lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not

     take men, treasure, and all."

     "You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men

     or not," said Jones; "but if the affair were in my hands I should

     have had a body of police in Jacobson's Yard, and arrested them when

     they came down."

     "Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewd

     fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him

     suspicious lie snug for another week."

     "But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to their

     hiding-place," said I.

     "In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a

     hundred to one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he

     has liquor and good pay, why should he ask questions? They send him

     messages what to do. No, I thought over every possible course, and

     this is the best."

     While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the

     long series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City

     the last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of

     St. Paul's. It was twilight before we reached the Tower.

     "That is Jacobson's Yard," said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of

     masts and rigging on the Surrey side. "Cruise gently up and down here

     under cover of this string of lighters." He took a pair of

     night-glasses from his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. "I

     see my sentry at his post," he remarked, "but no sign of a

     handkerchief."

     "Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them,"

     said Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, even the

     policemen and stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going

     forward.

     "We have no right to take anything for granted," Holmes answered. "It

     is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be

     certain. From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and

     they can hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light.

     We must stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the

     gaslight."

     "They are coming from work in the yard."

     "Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some little

     immortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look

     at them. There is no a priori probability about it. A strange enigma

     is man!"

     "Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal," I suggested.

     "Winwood Reade is good upon the subject," said Holmes. "He remarks

     that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the

     aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example,

     never foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with

     precision what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but

     percentages remain constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a

     handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter over yonder."

     "Yes, it is your boy," I cried. "I can see him plainly."

     "And there is the Aurora," exclaimed Holmes, "and going like the

     devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the

     yellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves

     to have the heels of us!"

     She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind

     two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up

     before we saw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the

     shore, going at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and

     shook his head.

     "She is very fast," he said. "I doubt if we shall catch her."

     "We must catch her!" cried Holmes, between his teeth. "Heap it on,

     stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have

     them!"

     We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful

     engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp,

     steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to

     right and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang

     and quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our

     bows threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right

     ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where the Aurora lay, and the

     swirl of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was

     going. We flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and

     out, behind this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the

     darkness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed

     close upon her track.

     "Pile it on, men, pile it on!" cried Holmes, looking down into the

     engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,

     aquiline face. "Get every pound of steam you can."

     "I think we gain a little," said Jones, with his eyes on the Aurora.

     "I am sure of it," said I. "We shall be up with her in a very few

     minutes."

     At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with

     three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting

     our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could

     round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two

     hundred yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky

     uncertain twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our

     boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated

     and creaked with the fierce energy which was driving us along. We had

     shot through the Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long

     Deptford Reach, and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The

     dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly enough into the

     dainty Aurora. Jones turned our search-light upon her, so that we

     could plainly see the figures upon her deck. One man sat by the

     stern, with something black between his knees over which he stooped.

     Beside him lay a dark mass which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The

     boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace I

     could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for

     dear life. They may have had some doubt at first as to whether we

     were really pursuing them, but now as we followed every winding and

     turning which they took there could no longer be any question about

     it. At Greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind them. At

     Blackwall we could not have been more than two hundred and fifty. I

     have coursed many creatures in many countries during my checkered

     career, but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad,

     flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we drew in upon them, yard

     by yard. In the silence of the night we could hear the panting and

     clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern still crouched upon

     the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were busy, while

     every now and then he would look up and measure with a glance the

     distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and nearer. Jones

     yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boat's lengths

     behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a clear

     reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the

     melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in

     the stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at

     us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,

     powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I

     could see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump

     upon the right side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there

     was movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened

     itself into a little black man--the smallest I have ever seen--with a

     great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair.

     Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the

     sight of this savage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort

     of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that

     face was enough to give a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen

     features so deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small

     eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were

     writhed back from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a

     half animal fury.

     "Fire if he raises his hand," said Holmes, quietly. We were within a

     boat's-length by this time, and almost within touch of our quarry. I

     can see the two of them now as they stood, the white man with his

     legs far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with

     his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the

     light of our lantern.

     It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as we looked he

     plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood,

     like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our pistols rang out

     together. He whirled round, threw up his arms, and with a kind of

     choking cough fell sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of

     his venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At

     the same moment the wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder

     and put it hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the

     southern bank, while we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a

     few feet. We were round after her in an instant, but she was already

     nearly at the bank. It was a wild and desolate place, where the moon

     glimmered upon a wide expanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant

     water and beds of decaying vegetation. The launch with a dull thud

     ran up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush

     with the water. The fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank

     its whole length into the sodden soil. In vain he struggled and

     writhed. Not one step could he possibly take either forwards or

     backwards. He yelled in impotent rage, and kicked frantically into

     the mud with his other foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden

     pin the deeper into the sticky bank. When we brought our launch

     alongside he was so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing the

     end of a rope over his shoulders that we were able to haul him out,

     and to drag him, like some evil fish, over our side. The two Smiths,

     father and son, sat sullenly in their launch, but came aboard meekly

     enough when commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast

     to our stern. A solid iron chest of Indian workmanship stood upon the

     deck. This, there could be no question, was the same that had

     contained the ill-omened treasure of the Sholtos. There was no key,

     but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred it carefully to

     our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly up-stream again, we

     flashed our search-light in every direction, but there was no sign of

     the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom of the Thames

     lie the bones of that strange visitor to our shores.

     "See here," said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. "We were

     hardly quick enough with our pistols." There, sure enough, just

     behind where we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts

     which we knew so well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant

     that we fired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his

     easy fashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the

     horrible death which had passed so close to us that night.

          CHAPTER XI

          The Great Agra Treasure

     Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had

     done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned,

     reckless-eyed fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles all over

     his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life. There was

     a singular prominence about his bearded chin which marked a man who

     was not to be easily turned from his purpose. His age may have been

     fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with

     gray. His face in repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy

     brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible

     expression when moved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands

     upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with

     his keen, twinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his

     ill-doings. It seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in

     his rigid and contained countenance. Once he looked up at me with a

     gleam of something like humour in his eyes.

     "Well, Jonathan Small," said Holmes, lighting a cigar, "I am sorry

     that it has come to this."

     "And so am I, sir," he answered, frankly. "I don't believe that I can

     swing over the job. I give you my word on the book that I never

     raised hand against Mr. Sholto. It was that little hell-hound Tonga

     who shot one of his cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir.

     I was as grieved as if it had been my blood-relation. I welted the

     little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done,

     and I could not undo it again."

     "Have a cigar," said Holmes; "and you had best take a pull out of my

     flask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so small and weak a

     man as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto and hold him while

     you were climbing the rope?"

     "You seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir. The

     truth is that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew the habits of

     the house pretty well, and it was the time when Mr. Sholto usually

     went down to his supper. I shall make no secret of the business. The

     best defence that I can make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had

     been the old major I would have swung for him with a light heart. I

     would have thought no more of knifing him than of smoking this cigar.

     But it's cursed hard that I should be lagged over this young Sholto,

     with whom I had no quarrel whatever."

     "You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard. He

     is going to bring you up to my rooms, and I shall ask you for a true

     account of the matter. You must make a clean breast of it, for if you

     do I hope that I may be of use to you.  I think I can prove that the

     poison acts so quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached

     the room."

     "That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as when I saw

     him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder as I climbed through

     the window. It fairly shook me, sir. I'd have half killed Tonga for

     it if he had not scrambled off. That was how he came to leave his

     club, and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which I dare say

     helped to put you on our track; though how you kept on it is more

     than I can tell. I don't feel no malice against you for it. But it

     does seem a queer thing," he added, with a bitter smile, "that I who

     have a fair claim to nigh upon half a million of money should spend

     the first half of my life building a breakwater in the Andamans, and

     am like to spend the other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an

     evil day for me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant Achmet

     and had to do with the Agra treasure, which never brought anything

     but a curse yet upon the man who owned it. To him it brought murder,

     to Major Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery

     for life."

     At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavy

     shoulders into the tiny cabin. "Quite a family party," he remarked.

     "I think I shall have a pull at that flask, Holmes.  Well, I think we

     may all congratulate each other. Pity we didn't take the other alive;

     but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must confess that you cut

     it rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaul her."

     "All is well that ends well," said Holmes. "But I certainly did not

     know that the Aurora was such a clipper."

     "Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, and that

     if he had had another man to help him with the engines we should

     never have caught her. He swears he knew nothing of this Norwood

     business."

     "Neither he did," cried our prisoner,--"not a word. I chose his

     launch because I heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing, but

     we paid him well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached

     our vessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for the

     Brazils."

     "Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comes to

     him. If we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not so quick

     in condemning them." It was amusing to notice how the consequential

     Jones was already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of

     the capture. From the slight smile which played over Sherlock

     Holmes's face, I could see that the speech had not been lost upon

     him.

     "We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently," said Jones, "and shall

     land you, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I need hardly tell you

     that I am taking a very grave responsibility upon myself in doing

     this. It is most irregular; but of course an agreement is an

     agreement. I must, however, as a matter of duty, send an inspector

     with you, since you have so valuable a charge. You will drive, no

     doubt?"

     "Yes, I shall drive."

     "It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventory first.

     You will have to break it open. Where is the key, my man?"

     "At the bottom of the river," said Small, shortly.

     "Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary trouble. We have

     had work enough already through you. However, doctor, I need not warn

     you to be careful. Bring the box back with you to the Baker Street

     rooms. You will find us there, on our way to the station."

     They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff,

     genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hour's drive

     brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servant seemed surprised at

     so late a visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she

     explained, and likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in

     the drawing-room: so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving

     the obliging inspector in the cab.

     She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of white

     diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and

     waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned

     back in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, and

     tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant

     hair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and

     her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the

     sound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however, and a bright

     flush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale cheeks.

     "I heard a cab drive up," she said. "I thought that Mrs. Forrester

     had come back very early, but I never dreamed that it might be you.

     What news have you brought me?"

     "I have brought something better than news," said I, putting down the

     box upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously, though my

     heart was heavy within me. "I have brought you something which is

     worth all the news in the world. I have brought you a fortune."

     She glanced at iron box. "Is that the treasure, then?" she asked,

     coolly enough.

     "Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours and half

     is Thaddeus Sholto's. You will have a couple of hundred thousand

     each. Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds. There will be

     few richer young ladies in England. Is it not glorious?"

     I think that I must have been rather overacting my delight, and that

     she detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her

     eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously.

     "If I have it," said she, "I owe it to you."

     "No, no," I answered, "not to me, but to my friend Sherlock Holmes.

     With all the will in the world, I could never have followed up a clue

     which has taxed even his analytical genius.  As it was, we very

     nearly lost it at the last moment."

     "Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson," said she.

     I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her

     last,--Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora,

     the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and

     the wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips and

     shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the

     dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I

     feared that she was about to faint.

     "It is nothing," she said, as I hastened to pour her out some water.

     "I am all right again. It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed

     my friends in such horrible peril."

     "That is all over," I answered. "It was nothing. I will tell you no

     more gloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There is the

     treasure. What could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it

     with me, thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see

     it."

     "It would be of the greatest interest to me," she said. There was no

     eagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her, doubtless, that

     it might seem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize

     which had cost so much to win.

     "What a pretty box!" she said, stooping over it. "This is Indian

     work, I suppose?"

     "Yes; it is Benares metal-work."

     "And so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. "The box alone

     must be of some value. Where is the key?"

     "Small threw it into the Thames," I answered. "I must borrow Mrs.

     Forrester's poker." There was in the front a thick and broad hasp,

     wrought in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end

     of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open

     with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We

     both stood gazing in astonishment. The box was empty!

     No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of an inch

     thick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest

     constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or

     crumb of metal or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely and

     completely empty.

     "The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly.

     As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great

     shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra

     treasure had weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed.

     It was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize

     nothing save that the golden barrier was gone from between us. "Thank

     God!" I ejaculated from my very heart.

     She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "Why do you say

     that?" she asked.

     "Because you are within my reach again," I said, taking her hand. She

     did not withdraw it. "Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a

     man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my

     lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is

     why I said, 'Thank God.'"

     "Then I say, 'Thank God,' too," she whispered, as I drew her to my

     side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had

     gained one.

          CHAPTER XII

          The Strange Story of Jonathan Small

     A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary

     time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I showed him

     the empty box.

     "There goes the reward!" said he, gloomily. "Where there is no money

     there is no pay. This night's work would have been worth a tenner

     each to Sam Brown and me if the treasure had been there."

     "Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man," I said. "He will see that you

     are rewarded, treasure or no."

     The inspector shook his head despondently, however. "It's a bad job,"

     he repeated; "and so Mr. Athelney Jones will think."

     His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank

     enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box. They

     had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had

     changed their plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon

     the way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair with his usual

     listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with

     his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibited the empty

     box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.

     "This is your doing, Small," said Athelney Jones, angrily.

     "Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand upon it," he

     cried, exultantly. "It is my treasure; and if I can't have the loot

     I'll take darned good care that no one else does. I tell you that no

     living man has any right to it, unless it is three men who are in the

     Andaman convict-barracks and myself. I know now that I cannot have

     the use of it, and I know that they cannot. I have acted all through

     for them as much as for myself. It's been the sign of four with us

     always. Well I know that they would have had me do just what I have

     done, and throw the treasure into the Thames rather than let it go to

     kith or kin of Sholto or of Morstan. It was not to make them rich

     that we did for Achmet. You'll find the treasure where the key is,

     and where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launch must catch us,

     I put the loot away in a safe place. There are no rupees for you this

     journey."

     "You are deceiving us, Small," said Athelney Jones, sternly. "If you

     had wished to throw the treasure into the Thames it would have been

     easier for you to have thrown box and all."

     "Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover," he answered,

     with a shrewd, sidelong look. "The man that was clever enough to hunt

     me down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of a

     river. Now that they are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a

     harder job. It went to my heart to do it, though. I was half mad when

     you came up with us. However, there's no good grieving over it. I've

     had ups in my life, and I've had downs, but I've learned not to cry

     over spilled milk."

     "This is a very serious matter, Small," said the detective. "If you

     had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, you would

     have had a better chance at your trial."

     "Justice!" snarled the ex-convict. "A pretty justice! Whose loot is

     this, if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should give it

     up to those who have never earned it? Look how I have earned it!

     Twenty long years in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under

     the mangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts,

     bitten by mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed

     black-faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white man. That

     was how I earned the Agra treasure; and you talk to me of justice

     because I cannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only that

     another may enjoy it! I would rather swing a score of times, or have

     one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a convict's cell and

     feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the money that

     should be mine." Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this

     came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the

     handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned movement of his

     hands. I could understand, as I saw the fury and the passion of the

     man, that it was no groundless or unnatural terror which had

     possessed Major Sholto when he first learned that the injured convict

     was upon his track.

     "You forget that we know nothing of all this," said Holmes quietly.

     "We have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how far justice may

     originally have been on your side."

     "Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I can see

     that I have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon my wrists.

     Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is all fair and above-board. If

     you want to hear my story I have no wish to hold it back. What I say

     to you is God's truth, every word of it. Thank you; you can put the

     glass beside me here, and I'll put my lips to it if I am dry.

     "I am a Worcestershire man myself,--born near Pershore. I dare say

     you would find a heap of Smalls living there now if you were to look.

     I have often thought of taking a look round there, but the truth is

     that I was never much of a credit to the family, and I doubt if they

     would be so very glad to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going

     folk, small farmers, well known and respected over the country-side,

     while I was always a bit of a rover. At last, however, when I was

     about eighteen, I gave them no more trouble, for I got into a mess

     over a girl, and could only get out of it again by taking the queen's

     shilling and joining the 3d Buffs, which was just starting for India.

     "I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I had just got

     past the goose-step, and learned to handle my musket, when I was fool

     enough to go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily for me, my company

     sergeant, John Holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was

     one of the finest swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me, just

     as I was half-way across, and nipped off my right leg as clean as a

     surgeon could have done it, just above the knee. What with the shock

     and the loss of blood, I fainted, and should have drowned if Holder

     had not caught hold of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months

     in hospital over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of it

     with this timber toe strapped to my stump I found myself invalided

     out of the army and unfitted for any active occupation.

     "I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time, for

     I was a useless cripple though not yet in my twentieth year. However,

     my misfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. A man named

     Abelwhite, who had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an

     overseer to look after his coolies and keep them up to their work. He

     happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken an interest

     in me since the accident. To make a long story short, the colonel

     recommended me strongly for the post and, as the work was mostly to

     be done on horseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough

     knee left to keep good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to

     ride over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked,

     and to report the idlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable

     quarters, and altogether I was content to spend the remainder of my

     life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite was a kind man, and he would

     often drop into my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white

     folk out there feel their hearts warm to each other as they never do

     here at home.

     "Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly, without a note of

     warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India lay as still

     and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or Kent; the next there

     were two hundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country was

     a perfect hell. Of course you know all about it, gentlemen,--a deal

     more than I do, very like, since reading is not in my line. I only

     know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation was at a place

     called Muttra, near the border of the Northwest Provinces. Night

     after night the whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows, and

     day after day we had small companies of Europeans passing through our

     estate with their wives and children, on their way to Agra, where

     were the nearest troops. Mr. Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He had

     it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated, and that it

     would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up. There he sat on his

     veranda, drinking whiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots, while the

     country was in a blaze about him. Of course we stuck by him, I and

     Dawson, who, with his wife, used to do the book-work and the

     managing. Well, one fine day the crash came. I had been away on a

     distant plantation, and was riding slowly home in the evening, when

     my eye fell upon something all huddled together at the bottom of a

     steep nullah. I rode down to see what it was, and the cold struck

     through my heart when I found it was Dawson's wife, all cut into

     ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and native dogs. A little further

     up the road Dawson himself was lying on his face, quite dead, with an

     empty revolver in his hand and four Sepoys lying across each other in

     front of him. I reined up my horse, wondering which way I should

     turn, but at that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from

     Abelwhite's bungalow and the flames beginning to burst through the

     roof. I knew then that I could do my employer no good, but would only

     throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter. From where I stood

     I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats still

     on their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house. Some of

     them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my head; so I

     broke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night

     safe within the walls at Agra.

     "As it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either. The

     whole country was up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the English could

     collect in little bands they held just the ground that their guns

     commanded. Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. It was a

     fight of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of

     it was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and

     gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught and trained,

     handling our own weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls. At Agra

     there were the 3d Bengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse,

     and a battery of artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants

     had been formed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out

     to meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we beat them back

     for a time, but our powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the

     city. Nothing but the worst news came to us from every side,--which

     is not to be wondered at, for if you look at the map you will see

     that we were right in the heart of it. Lucknow is rather better than

     a hundred miles to the east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south.

     From every point on the compass there was nothing but torture and

     murder and outrage.

     "The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics and fierce

     devil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men were lost among

     the narrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across the river,

     therefore, and took up his position in the old fort at Agra. I don't

     know if any of you gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that

     old fort. It is a very queer place,--the queerest that ever I was in,

     and I have been in some rum corners, too. First of all, it is

     enormous in size. I should think that the enclosure must be acres and

     acres. There is a modern part, which took all our garrison, women,

     children, stores, and everything else, with plenty of room over. But

     the modern part is nothing like the size of the old quarter, where

     nobody goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and the

     centipedes. It is all full of great deserted halls, and winding

     passages, and long corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy

     enough for folk to get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom that

     any one went into it, though now and again a party with torches might

     go exploring.

     "The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so protects

     it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors, and these had

     to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in that which

     was actually held by our troops. We were short-handed, with hardly

     men enough to man the angles of the building and to serve the guns.

     It was impossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at

     every one of the innumerable gates. What we did was to organize a

     central guard-house in the middle of the fort, and to leave each gate

     under the charge of one white man and two or three natives. I was

     selected to take charge during certain hours of the night of a small

     isolated door upon the southwest side of the building. Two Sikh

     troopers were placed under my command, and I was instructed if

     anything went wrong to fire my musket, when I might rely upon help

     coming at once from the central guard. As the guard was a good two

     hundred paces away, however, and as the space between was cut up into

     a labyrinth of passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to

     whether they could arrive in time to be of any use in case of an

     actual attack.

     "Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command given me,

     since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that. For two

     nights I kept the watch with my Punjaubees. They were tall,

     fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both

     old fighting-men who had borne arms against us at Chilian-wallah.

     They could talk English pretty well, but I could get little out of

     them. They preferred to stand together and jabber all night in their

     queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used to stand outside the gate-way,

     looking down on the broad, winding river and on the twinkling lights

     of the great city. The beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and

     the yells and howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang,

     were enough to remind us all night of our dangerous neighbors across

     the stream. Every two hours the officer of the night used to come

     round to all the posts, to make sure that all was well.

     "The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small,

     driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the gate-way hour after

     hour in such weather. I tried again and again to make my Sikhs talk,

     but without much success. At two in the morning the rounds passed,

     and broke for a moment the weariness of the night. Finding that my

     companions would not be led into conversation, I took out my pipe,

     and laid down my musket to strike the match. In an instant the two

     Sikhs were upon me. One of them snatched my firelock up and levelled

     it at my head, while the other held a great knife to my throat and

     swore between his teeth that he would plunge it into me if I moved a

     step.

     "My first thought was that these fellows were in league with the

     rebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault. If our door

     were in the hands of the Sepoys the place must fall, and the women

     and children be treated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen

     think that I am just making out a case for myself, but I give you my

     word that when I thought of that, though I felt the point of the

     knife at my throat, I opened my mouth with the intention of giving a

     scream, if it was my last one, which might alarm the main guard. The

     man who held me seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as I braced

     myself to it, he whispered, 'Don't make a noise. The fort is safe

     enough. There are no rebel dogs on this side of the river.' There was

     the ring of truth in what he said, and I knew that if I raised my

     voice I was a dead man. I could read it in the fellow's brown eyes. I

     waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was that they wanted

     from me.

     "'Listen to me, Sahib,' said the taller and fiercer of the pair, the

     one whom they called Abdullah Khan. 'You must either be with us now

     or you must be silenced forever. The thing is too great a one for us

     to hesitate. Either you are heart and soul with us on your oath on

     the cross of the Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown

     into the ditch and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel

     army. There is no middle way. Which is it to be, death or life? We

     can only give you three minutes to decide, for the time is passing,

     and all must be done before the rounds come again.'

     "'How can I decide?' said I. 'You have not told me what you want of

     me. But I tell you now that if it is anything against the safety of

     the fort I will have no truck with it, so you can drive home your

     knife and welcome.'

     "'It is nothing against the fort,' said he. 'We only ask you to do

     that which your countrymen come to this land for. We ask you to be

     rich. If you will be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon

     the naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever

     known to break, that you shall have your fair share of the loot. A

     quarter of the treasure shall be yours. We can say no fairer.'

     "'But what is the treasure, then?' I asked. 'I am as ready to be rich

     as you can be, if you will but show me how it can be done.'

     "'You will swear, then,' said he, 'by the bones of your father, by

     the honor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise no

     hand and speak no word against us, either now or afterwards?'

     "'I will swear it,' I answered, 'provided that the fort is not

     endangered.'

     "'Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have a quarter of

     the treasure which shall be equally divided among the four of us.'

     "'There are but three,' said I.

     "'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale to you

     while we await them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and

     give notice of their coming. The thing stands thus, Sahib, and I tell

     it to you because I know that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee,

     and that we may trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you

     had sworn by all the gods in their false temples, your blood would

     have been upon the knife, and your body in the water. But the Sikh

     knows the Englishman, and the Englishman knows the Sikh. Hearken,

     then, to what I have to say.

     "'There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much wealth,

     though his lands are small. Much has come to him from his father, and

     more still he has set by himself, for he is of a low nature and

     hoards his gold rather than spend it. When the troubles broke out he

     would be friends both with the lion and the tiger,--with the Sepoy

     and with the Company's raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that the

     white men's day was come, for through all the land he could hear of

     nothing but of their death and their overthrow. Yet, being a careful

     man, he made such plans that, come what might, half at least of his

     treasure should be left to him. That which was in gold and silver he

     kept by him in the vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones

     and the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron box, and sent

     it by a trusty servant who, under the guise of a merchant, should

     take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until the land is at peace.

     Thus, if the rebels won he would have his money, but if the Company

     conquered his jewels would be saved to him. Having thus divided his

     hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the Sepoys, since they were

     strong upon his borders. By doing this, mark you, Sahib, his property

     becomes the due of those who have been true to their salt.

     "'This pretended merchant, who travels under the name of Achmet, is

     now in the city of Agra, and desires to gain his way into the fort.

     He has with him as travelling-companion my foster-brother Dost Akbar,

     who knows his secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him

     to a side-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one for his

     purpose. Here he will come presently, and here he will find Mahomet

     Singh and myself awaiting him. The place is lonely, and none shall

     know of his coming. The world shall know of the merchant Achmet no

     more, but the great treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us.

     What say you to it, Sahib?'

     "In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacred

     thing; but it is very different when there is fire and blood all

     round you and you have been used to meeting death at every turn.

     Whether Achmet the merchant lived or died was a thing as light as air

     to me, but at the talk about the treasure my heart turned to it, and

     I thought of what I might do in the old country with it, and how my

     folk would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-well coming back with

     his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, therefore, already made up

     my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking that I hesitated, pressed

     the matter more closely.

     "'Consider, Sahib,' said he, 'that if this man is taken by the

     commandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels taken by the

     government, so that no man will be a rupee the better for them. Now,

     since we do the taking of him, why should we not do the rest as well?

     The jewels will be as well with us as in the Company's coffers. There

     will be enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs. No

     one can know about the matter, for here we are cut off from all men.

     What could be better for the purpose?  Say again, then, Sahib,

     whether you are with us, or if we must look upon you as an enemy.'

     "'I am with you heart and soul,' said I.

     "'It is well,' he answered, handing me back my firelock. 'You see

     that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to be broken. We

     have now only to wait for my brother and the merchant.'

     "'Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?' I asked.

     "'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the gate and

     share the watch with Mahomet Singh.'

     "The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the beginning

     of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky,

     and it was hard to see more than a stone-cast. A deep moat lay in

     front of our door, but the water was in places nearly dried up, and

     it could easily be crossed. It was strange to me to be standing there

     with those two wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was coming to

     his death.

     "Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at the other

     side of the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps, and then

     appeared again coming slowly in our direction.

     "'Here they are!' I exclaimed.

     "'You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,' whispered Abdullah. 'Give

     him no cause for fear. Send us in with him, and we shall do the rest

     while you stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready to uncover, that

     we may be sure that it is indeed the man.'

     "The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now advancing,

     until I could see two dark figures upon the other side of the moat. I

     let them scramble down the sloping bank, splash through the mire, and

     climb half-way up to the gate, before I challenged them.

     "'Who goes there?' said I, in a subdued voice.

     "'Friends,' came the answer. I uncovered my lantern and threw a flood

     of light upon them. The first was an enormous Sikh, with a black

     beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I

     have never seen so tall a man. The other was a little, fat, round

     fellow, with a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done up

     in a shawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands

     twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turning to left and

     right with two bright little twinkling eyes, like a mouse when he

     ventures out from his hole. It gave me the chills to think of killing

     him, but I thought of the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a

     flint within me. When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup

     of joy and came running up towards me.

     "'Your protection, Sahib,' he panted,--'your protection for the

     unhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled across Rajpootana that I

     might seek the shelter of the fort at Agra. I have been robbed and

     beaten and abused because I have been the friend of the Company. It

     is a blessed night this when I am once more in safety,--I and my poor

     possessions.'

     "'What have you in the bundle?' I asked.

     "'An iron box,' he answered, 'which contains one or two little family

     matters which are of no value to others, but which I should be sorry

     to lose. Yet I am not a beggar; and I shall reward you, young Sahib,

     and your governor also, if he will give me the shelter I ask.'

     "I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. The more I

     looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem that we

     should slay him in cold blood. It was best to get it over.

     "'Take him to the main guard,' said I. The two Sikhs closed in upon

     him on each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched in

     through the dark gate-way. Never was a man so compassed round with

     death. I remained at the gate-way with the lantern.

     "I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps sounding through

     the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and I heard voices, and a

     scuffle, with the sound of blows. A moment later there came, to my

     horror, a rush of footsteps coming in my direction, with the loud

     breathing of a running man. I turned my lantern down the long,

     straight passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind,

     with a smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels,

     bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded Sikh, with a knife

     flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man run so fast as that

     little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh, and I could see that if

     he once passed me and got to the open air he would save himself yet.

     My heart softened to him, but again the thought of his treasure

     turned me hard and bitter. I cast my firelock between his legs as he

     raced past, and he rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he could

     stagger to his feet the Sikh was upon him, and buried his knife twice

     in his side. The man never uttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay

     were he had fallen. I think myself that he may have broken his neck

     with the fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my promise. I am

     telling you every work of the business just exactly as it happened,

     whether it is in my favor or not."

     He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the whiskey-and-water

     which Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess that I had now

     conceived the utmost horror of the man, not only for this

     cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned, but even more

     for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated it.

     Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that he might expect

     no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and Jones sat with their hands

     upon their knees, deeply interested in the story, but with the same

     disgust written upon their faces.  He may have observed it, for there

     was a touch of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded.

     "It was all very bad, no doubt," said he. "I should like to know how

     many fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of this loot when

     they knew that they would have their throats cut for their pains.

     Besides, it was my life or his when once he was in the fort. If he

     had got out, the whole business would come to light, and I should

     have been court-martialled and shot as likely as not; for people were

     not very lenient at a time like that."

     "Go on with your story," said Holmes, shortly.

     "Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine weight he

     was, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was left to

     guard the door. We took him to a place which the Sikhs had already

     prepared. It was some distance off, where a winding passage leads to

     a great empty hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to

     pieces. The earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural

     grave, so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first covered him

     over with loose bricks. This done, we all went back to the treasure.

     "It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. The box

     was the same which now lies open upon your table. A key was hung by a

     silken cord to that carved handle upon the top. We opened it, and the

     light of the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have

     read of and thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore. It was

     blinding to look upon them. When we had feasted our eyes we took them

     all out and made a list of them. There were one hundred and

     forty-three diamonds of the first water, including one which has been

     called, I believe, 'the Great Mogul' and is said to be the second

     largest stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven very fine

     emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which, however,

     were small. There were forty carbuncles, two hundred and ten

     sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls, onyxes,

     cats'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names of which I

     did not know at the time, though I have become more familiar with

     them since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very fine

     pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet. By the way, these

     last had been taken out of the chest and were not there when I

     recovered it.

     "After we had counted our treasures we put them back into the chest

     and carried them to the gate-way to show them to Mahomet Singh. Then

     we solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other and be true to

     our secret. We agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the

     country should be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among

     ourselves. There was no use dividing it at present, for if gems of

     such value were found upon us it would cause suspicion, and there was

     no privacy in the fort nor any place where we could keep them. We

     carried the box, therefore, into the same hall where we had buried

     the body, and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall,

     we made a hollow and put our treasure. We made careful note of the

     place, and next day I drew four plans, one for each of us, and put

     the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn that we

     should each always act for all, so that none might take advantage.

     That is an oath that I can put my hand to my heart and swear that I

     have never broken.

     "Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what came of the

     Indian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin relieved Lucknow

     the back of the business was broken. Fresh troops came pouring in,

     and Nana Sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying column

     under Colonel Greathed came round to Agra and cleared the Pandies

     away from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and we

     four were beginning to hope that the time was at hand when we might

     safely go off with our shares of the plunder. In a moment, however,

     our hopes were shattered by our being arrested as the murderers of

     Achmet.

     "It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels into the

     hands of Achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trusty man.

     They are suspicious folk in the East, however: so what does this

     rajah do but take a second even more trusty servant and set him to

     play the spy upon the first? This second man was ordered never to let

     Achmet out of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went

     after him that night and saw him pass through the doorway. Of course

     he thought he had taken refuge in the fort, and applied for admission

     there himself next day, but could find no trace of Achmet. This

     seemed to him so strange that he spoke about it to a sergeant of

     guides, who brought it to the ears of the commandant. A thorough

     search was quickly made, and the body was discovered. Thus at the

     very moment that we thought that all was safe we were all four seized

     and brought to trial on a charge of murder,--three of us because we

     had held the gate that night, and the fourth because he was known to

     have been in the company of the murdered man. Not a word about the

     jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and

     driven out of India: so no one had any particular interest in them.

     The murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain that we

     must all have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal

     servitude for life, and I was condemned to death, though my sentence

     was afterwards commuted into the same as the others.

     "It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then.

     There we were all four tied by the leg and with precious little

     chance of ever getting out again, while we each held a secret which

     might have put each of us in a palace if we could only have made use

     of it. It was enough to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand

     the kick and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to

     eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready for him

     outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might have driven me mad;

     but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so I just held on and bided

     my time.

     "At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed from Agra to

     Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans. There are

     very few white convicts at this settlement, and, as I had behaved

     well from the first, I soon found myself a sort of privileged person.

     I was given a hut in Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes

     of Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is a

     dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little clearings was

     infested with wild cannibal natives, who were ready enough to blow a

     poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance. There was digging, and

     ditching, and yam-planting, and a dozen other things to be done, so

     we were busy enough all day; though in the evening we had a little

     time to ourselves. Among other things, I learned to dispense drugs

     for the surgeon, and picked up a smattering of his knowledge. All the

     time I was on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds

     of miles from any other land, and there is little or no wind in those

     seas: so it was a terribly difficult job to get away.

     "The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, and the

     other young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening and play

     cards. The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs, was next to his

     sitting-room, with a small window between us. Often, if I felt

     lonesome, I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then,

     standing there, I could hear their talk and watch their play. I am

     fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good as having

     one to watch the others. There was Major Sholto, Captain Morstan, and

     Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who were in command of the native troops,

     and there was the surgeon himself, and two or three prison-officials,

     crafty old hands who played a nice sly safe game. A very snug little

     party they used to make.

     "Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and that was

     that the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win. Mind,

     I don't say that there was anything unfair, but so it was. These

     prison-chaps had done little else than play cards ever since they had

     been at the Andamans, and they knew each other's game to a point,

     while the others just played to pass the time and threw their cards

     down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up poorer men, and

     the poorer they got the more keen they were to play. Major Sholto was

     the hardest hit. He used to pay in notes and gold at first, but soon

     it came to notes of hand and for big sums. He sometimes would win for

     a few deals, just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in

     against him worse than ever. All day he would wander about as black

     as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal more than was good for

     him.

     "One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was sitting in my

     hut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling along on the way to

     their quarters. They were bosom friends, those two, and never far

     apart. The major was raving about his losses.

     "'It's all up, Morstan,' he was saying, as they passed my hut. 'I

     shall have to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.'

     "'Nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping him upon the

     shoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer myself, but--' That was all I could

     hear, but it was enough to set me thinking.

     A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the beach: so I

     took the chance of speaking to him.

     "'I wish to have your advice, major,' said I.

     "'Well, Small, what is it?' he asked, taking his cheroot from his

     lips.

     "'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said I, 'who is the proper person to

     whom hidden treasure should be handed over. I know where half a

     million worth lies, and, as I cannot use it myself, I thought perhaps

     the best thing that I could do would be to hand it over to the proper

     authorities, and then perhaps they would get my sentence shortened

     for me.'

     "'Half a million, Small?' he gasped, looking hard at me to see if I

     was in earnest.

     "'Quite that, sir,--in jewels and pearls. It lies there ready for

     anyone. And the queer thing about it is that the real owner is

     outlawed and cannot hold property, so that it belongs to the first

     comer.'

     "'To government, Small,' he stammered,--'to government.' But he said

     it in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart that I had got him.

     "'You think, then, sir, that I should give the information to the

     Governor-General?' said I, quietly.

     "'Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you might

     repent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me the facts.'

     "I told him the whole story, with small changes so that he could not

     identify the places. When I had finished he stood stock still and

     full of thought. I could see by the twitch of his lip that there was

     a struggle going on within him.

     "'This is a very important matter, Small,' he said, at last. 'You

     must not say a word to any one about it, and I shall see you again

     soon.'

     "Two nights later he and his friend Captain Morstan came to my hut in

     the dead of the night with a lantern.

     "'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story from your

     own lips, Small,' said he.

     "I repeated it as I had told it before.

     "'It rings true, eh?' said he. 'It's good enough to act upon?'

     "Captain Morstan nodded.

     "'Look here, Small,' said the major. 'We have been talking it over,

     my friend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion that this

     secret of yours is hardly a government matter, after all, but is a

     private concern of your own, which of course you have the power of

     disposing of as you think best. Now, the question is, what price

     would you ask for it? We might be inclined to take it up, and at

     least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.' He tried to speak

     in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were shining with excitement

     and greed.

     "'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I answered, trying also to be cool,

     but feeling as excited as he did, 'there is only one bargain which a

     man in my position can make. I shall want you to help me to my

     freedom, and to help my three companions to theirs.  We shall then

     take yo into partnership, and give you a fifth share to divide

     between you.'

     "'Hum!' said he. 'A fifth share! That is not very tempting.'

     "'It would come to fifty thousand apiece,' said I.

     "'But how can we gain your freedom? You know very well that you ask

     an impossibility.'

     "'Nothing of the sort,' I answered. 'I have thought it all out to the

     last detail. The only bar to our escape is that we can get no boat

     fit for the voyage, and no provisions to last us for so long a time.

     There are plenty of little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or Madras

     which would serve our turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall

     engage to get aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any

     part of the Indian coast you will have done your part of the

     bargain.'

     "'If there were only one,' he said.

     "'None or all,' I answered. 'We have sworn it. The four of us must

     always act together.'

     "'You see, Morstan,' said he, 'Small is a man of his word. He does

     not flinch from his friend. I think we may very well trust him.'

     "'It's a dirty business,' the other answered. 'Yet, as you say, the

     money would save our commissions handsomely.'

     "'Well, Small,' said the major, 'we must, I suppose, try and meet

     you. We must first, of course, test the truth of your story. Tell me

     where the box is hid, and I shall get leave of absence and go back to

     India in the monthly relief-boat to inquire into the affair.'

     "'Not so fast,' said I, growing colder as he got hot. 'I must have

     the consent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is four or none

     with us.'

     "'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three black fellows to do with

     our agreement?'

     "'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with me, and we all go

     together.'

     "Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which Mahomet Singh,

     Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present. We talked the matter

     over again, and at last we came to an arrangement. We were to provide

     both the officers with charts of the part of the Agra fort and mark

     the place in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to

     go to India to test our story. If he found the box he was to leave it

     there, to send out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was

     to lie off Rutland Island, and to which we were to make our way, and

     finally to return to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply

     for leave of absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a

     final division of the treasure, he taking the major's share as well

     as his own. All this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind

     could think or the lips utter. I sat up all night with paper and ink,

     and by the morning I had the two charts all ready, signed with the

     sign of four,--that is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.

     "Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I know that my

     friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey. I'll

     make it as short as I can. The villain Sholto went off to India, but

     he never came back again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among a

     list of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards.

     His uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the army,

     yet he could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan

     went over to Agra shortly afterwards, and found, as we expected, that

     the treasure was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all,

     without carrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold him

     the secret. From that day I lived only for vengeance. I thought of it

     by day and I nursed it by night. It became an overpowering, absorbing

     passion with me. I cared nothing for the law,--nothing for the

     gallows. To escape, to track down Sholto, to have my hand upon his

     throat,--that was my one thought. Even the Agra treasure had come to

     be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of Sholto.

     "Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and never one

     which I did not carry out. But it was weary years before my time

     came. I have told you that I had picked up something of medicine. One

     day when Dr. Somerton was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander

     was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was sick to death,

     and had gone to a lonely place to die. I took him in hand, though he

     was as venomous as a young snake, and after a couple of months I got

     him all right and able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then,

     and would hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about

     my hut. I learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him

     all the fonder of me.

     "Tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and owned a big,

     roomy canoe of his own. When I found that he was devoted to me and

     would do anything to serve me, I saw my chance of escape. I talked it

     over with him. He was to bring his boat round on a certain night to

     an old wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up.

     I gave him directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of

     yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes.

     "He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever had a more

     faithful mate. At the night named he had his boat at the wharf. As it

     chanced, however, there was one of the convict-guard down there,--a

     vile Pathan who had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring

     me. I had always vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as

     if fate had placed him in my way that I might pay my debt before I

     left the island. He stood on the bank with his back to me, and his

     carbine on his shoulder. I looked about for a stone to beat out his

     brains with, but none could I see.

     "Then a queer thought came into my head and showed me where I could

     lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in the darkness and unstrapped my

     wooden leg. With three long hops I was on him. He put his carbine to

     his shoulder, but I struck him full, and knocked the whole front of

     his skull in. You can see the split in the wood now where I hit him.

     We both went down together, for I could not keep my balance, but when

     I got up I found him still lying quiet enough. I made for the boat,

     and in an hour we were well out at sea. Tonga had brought all his

     earthly possessions with him, his arms and his gods. Among other

     things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some Andaman cocoa-nut

     matting, with which I made a sort of sail. For ten days we were

     beating about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were picked

     up by a trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddah with a cargo

     of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tonga and I soon

     managed to settle down among them. They had one very good quality:

     they let you alone and asked no questions.

     "Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my little chum

     and I went through, you would not thank me, for I would have you here

     until the sun was shining. Here and there we drifted about the world,

     something always turning up to keep us from London. All the time,

     however, I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto at

     night. A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last,

     however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in England.

     I had no great difficulty in finding where Sholto lived, and I set to

     work to discover whether he had realized the treasure, or if he still

     had it. I made friends with someone who could help me,--I name no

     names, for I don't want to get any one else in a hole,--and I soon

     found that he still had the jewels. Then I tried to get at him in

     many ways; but he was pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters,

     besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on guard over him.

     "One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I hurried at once to

     the garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches like that,

     and, looking through the window, I saw him lying in his bed, with his

     sons on each side of him. I'd have come through and taken my chance

     with the three of them, only even as I looked at him his jaw dropped,

     and I knew that he was gone. I got into his room that same night,

     though, and I searched his papers to see if there was any record of

     where he had hidden our jewels. There was not a line, however: so I

     came away, bitter and savage as a man could be. Before I left I

     bethought me that if I ever met my Sikh friends again it would be a

     satisfaction to know that I had left some mark of our hatred: so I

     scrawled down the sign of the four of us, as it had been on the

     chart, and I pinned it on his bosom. It was too much that he should

     be taken to the grave without some token from the men whom he had

     robbed and befooled.

     "We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga at fairs

     and other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat raw meat

     and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of pennies after a

     day's work. I still heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and

     for some years there was no news to hear, except that they were

     hunting for the treasure. At last, however, came what we had waited

     for so long. The treasure had been found. It was up at the top of the

     house, in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's chemical laboratory. I came at

     once and had a look at the place, but I could not see how with my

     wooden leg I was to make my way up to it. I learned, however, about a

     trap-door in the roof, and also about Mr. Sholto's supper-hour. It

     seemed to me that I could manage the thing easily through Tonga. I

     brought him out with me with a long rope wound round his waist. He

     could climb like a cat, and he soon made his way through the roof,

     but, as ill luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in the

     room, to his cost. Tonga thought he had done something very clever in

     killing him, for when I came up by the rope I found him strutting

     about as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised was he when I made

     at him with the rope's end and cursed him for a little blood-thirsty

     imp. I took the treasure-box and let it down, and then slid down

     myself, having first left the sign of the four upon the table, to

     show that the jewels had come back at last to those who had most

     right to them. Tonga then pulled up the rope, closed the window, and

     made off the way that he had come.

     "I don't know that I have anything else to tell you. I had heard a

     waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch, the Aurora, so I

     thought she would be a handy craft for our escape. I engaged with old

     Smith, and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to our ship.

     He knew, no doubt, that there was some screw loose, but he was not in

     our secrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you,

     gentlemen, it is not to amuse you,--for you have not done me a very

     good turn,--but it is because I believe the best defence I can make

     is just to hold back nothing, but let all the world know how badly I

     have myself been served by Major Sholto, and how innocent I am of the

     death of his son."

     "A very remarkable account," said Sherlock Holmes. "A fitting wind-up

     to an extremely interesting case. There is nothing at all new to me

     in the latter part of your narrative, except that you brought your

     own rope. That I did not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had

     lost all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat."

     "He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his blow-pipe

     at the time."

     "Ah, of course," said Holmes. "I had not thought of that."

     "Is there any other point which you would like to ask about?" asked

     the convict, affably.

     "I think not, thank you," my companion answered.

     "Well, Holmes," said Athelney Jones, "You are a man to be humored,

     and we all know that you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is

     duty, and I have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend

     asked me. I shall feel more at ease when we have our story-teller

     here safe under lock and key. The cab still waits, and there are two

     inspectors down-stairs. I am much obliged to you both for your

     assistance. Of course you will be wanted at the trial. Good-night to

     you."

     "Good-night, gentlemen both," said Jonathan Small.

     "You first, Small," remarked the wary Jones as they left the room.

     "I'll take particular care that you don't club me with your wooden

     leg, whatever you may have done to the gentleman at the Andaman

     Isles."

     "Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked, after

     we had set some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the

     last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your

     methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband

     in prospective."

     He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "I really

     cannot congratulate you."

     I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my

     choice?" I asked.

     "Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I

     ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have

     been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in

     which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her

     father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is

     opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I

     should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment."

     "I trust," said I, laughing, "that my judgment may survive the

     ordeal. But you look weary."

     "Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag

     for a week."

     "Strange," said I, "how terms of what in another man I should call

     laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor."

     "Yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings of a very fine

     loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of

     those lines of old Goethe,--

              Schade, daß die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf,

             Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.

     "By the way, a propos of this Norwood business, you see that they

     had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none

     other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided

     honor of having caught one fish in his great haul."

     "The division seems rather unfair," I remarked. "You have done all

     the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the

     credit, pray what remains for you?"

     "For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still remains the

     cocaine-bottle." And he stretched his long white hand up for it.

     ----------

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