"Not yet."
"But you have hopes?"
"I have hopes."
"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."
"We must have a cab."
"No, my brougham is waiting."
"Then that will simplify matters." We descended and started off
once more for Briony Lodge.
"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.
"Married! When?"
"Yesterday."
"But to whom?"
"To an English lawyer named Norton."
"But she could not love him."
"I am in hopes that she does."
"And why in hopes?"
"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future
annoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your
Majesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason
why she should interfere with your Majesty's plan."
"It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my own
station! What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a
moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in
Serpentine Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood
upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped
from the brougham.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.
"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with a
questioning and rather startled gaze.
"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She
left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing
Cross for the Continent."
"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and
surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?"
"Never to return."
"And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely. "All is lost."
"We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed into the
drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was
scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and
open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before
her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small
sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a
photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler
herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to
"Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My friend
tore it open and we all three read it together. It was dated at
midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:
"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You really did it very well. You
took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a
suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I
began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had
been told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly
be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this,
you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became
suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind
old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress
myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage
of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to
watch you, ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call
them, and came down just as you departed.
"Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was
really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock
Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and
started for the Temple to see my husband.
"We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by
so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when
you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in
peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may
do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly
wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a
weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might
take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to
possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
"Very truly yours,
"IRENE NORTON, née ADLER."
"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when
we had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick
and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen?
Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?"
"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a
very different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I am
sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business
to a more successful conclusion."
"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing could be
more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The
photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."
"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."
"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can
reward you. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from
his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more
highly," said Holmes.
"You have but to name it."
"This photograph!"
The King stared at him in amazement.
"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."
"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the
matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." He
bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the
King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his
chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom
of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were
beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the
cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And
when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her
photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.
ADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the
autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a
very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.
With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when
Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door
behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear
Watson," he said cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged."
"So I am. Very much so."
"Then I can wait in the next room."
"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and
helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no
doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of
greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small
fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and
putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in
judicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love
of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum
routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by
the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you
will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own
little adventures."
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I
observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we
went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary
Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary
combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more
daring than any effort of the imagination."
"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."
"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my
view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you
until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to
be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call
upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to
be one of the most singular which I have listened to for some
time. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique
things are very often connected not with the larger but with the
smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for
doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I
have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present
case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is
certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.
Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to
recommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend
Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the
peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every
possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some
slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide
myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my
memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the
facts are, to the best of my belief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some
little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the
inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the
advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper
flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and
endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the
indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor
bore every mark of being an average commonplace British
tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey
shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,
unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy
Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as
an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a
wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether,
look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save
his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and
discontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook
his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances.
"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual
labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has
been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of
writing lately, I can deduce nothing else."
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger
upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.
Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did
manual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's
carpenter."
"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger
than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more
developed."
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"
"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you
use an arc-and-compass breastpin."
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"
"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for
five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the
elbow where you rest it upon the desk?"
"Well, but China?"
"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right
wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small
study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature
of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a
delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I
see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter
becomes even more simple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I
thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see
that there was nothing in it, after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake
in explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my
poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I
am so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger
planted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began
it all. You just read it for yourself, sir."
I took the paper from him and read as follows:
"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late
Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now
another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a
salary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All
red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age
of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at
eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7
Pope's Court, Fleet Street."
"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twice
read over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when
in high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?"
said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us
all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this
advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note,
Doctor, of the paper and the date."
"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months
ago."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"
"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small
pawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a
very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than
just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants,
but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but
that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the
business."
"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth,
either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter
assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better
himself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after
all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?"
"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employé who
comes under the full market price. It is not a common experience
among employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is
not as remarkable as your advertisement."
"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a
fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought
to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar
like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his
main fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice
in him."
"He is still with you, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple
cooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the
house, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very
quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads
and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.
"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.
Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight
weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:
"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'
"'Why that?' I asks.
"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the
Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who
gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than
there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what
to do with the money. If my hair would only change colour, here's
a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.'
"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a
very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of
my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting
my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what
was going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.
"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he
asked with his eyes open.
"'Never.'
"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one
of the vacancies.'
"'And what are they worth?' I asked.
"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight,
and it need not interfere very much with one's other
occupations.'
"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears,
for the business has not been over-good for some years, and an
extra couple of hundred would have been very handy.
"'Tell me all about it,' said I.
"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for
yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address
where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out,
the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah
Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself
red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men;
so when he died it was found that he had left his enormous
fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the
interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of
that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to
do.'
"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who
would apply.'
"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is
really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had
started from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the
old town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your
applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but
real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr.
Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be
worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a
few hundred pounds.'
"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves,
that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed
to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I
stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent
Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might
prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for
the day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to
have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for
the address that was given us in the advertisement.
"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From
north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in
his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement.
Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court
looked like a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought
there were so many in the whole country as were brought together
by that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they
were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay;
but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real
vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I
would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear
of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and
pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up
to the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream
upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back
dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found
ourselves in the office."
"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked
Holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge
pinch of snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement."
"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs
and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that
was even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate
as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in
them which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem
to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn
came the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of
the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he
might have a private word with us.
"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is
willing to fill a vacancy in the League.'
"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has
every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so
fine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and
gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he
plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my
success.
"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will,
however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.'
With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I
yelled with the pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as
he released me. 'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we
have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and
once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which
would disgust you with human nature.' He stepped over to the
window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the
vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,
and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there
was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the
manager.
"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of
the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are
you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'
"I answered that I had not.
"His face fell immediately.
"'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am
sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the
propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their
maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a
bachelor.'
"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was
not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for
a few minutes he said that it would be all right.
"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be
fatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a
head of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your
new duties?'
"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,'
said I.
"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding.
'I should be able to look after that for you.'
"'What would be the hours?' I asked.
"'Ten to two.'
"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.
Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just
before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in
the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man,
and that he would see to anything that turned up.
"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'
"'Is 4 pounds a week.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is purely nominal.'
"'What do you call purely nominal?'
"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the
building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole
position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You
don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office
during that time.'
"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,'
said I.
"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness
nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose
your billet.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first
volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be
ready to-morrow?'
"'Certainly,' I answered.
"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you
once more on the important position which you have been fortunate
enough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with
my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased
at my own good fortune.
"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in
low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the
whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its
object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past
belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay
such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the
'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Vincent Spaulding did what he could to
cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the
whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look
at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a
quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for
Pope's Court.
"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as
possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross
was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off
upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from
time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he
bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had
written, and locked the door of the office after me.
"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the
manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my
week's work. It was the same next week, and the same the week
after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I
left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only
once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at
all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an
instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet
was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk
the loss of it.
"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about
Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and
hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before very
long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly
filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole
business came to an end."
"To an end?"
"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as
usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a
little square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the
panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself."
He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet
of note-paper. It read in this fashion:
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
IS
DISSOLVED.
October 9, 1890.
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the
rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so
completely overtopped every other consideration that we both
burst out into a roar of laughter.
"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our
client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can
do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere."
"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from
which he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for
the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you
will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.
Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the
door?"
"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called
at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything
about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant
living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me
what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had
never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan
Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.
"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.'
"'What, the red-headed man?'
"'Yes.'
"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor
and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new
premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.'
"'Where could I find him?'
"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17
King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.'
"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was
a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever
heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross."
"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes.
"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my
assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say
that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite
good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place
without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough
to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right
away to you."
"And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an
exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.
From what you have told me I think that it is possible that
graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear."
"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four
pound a week."
"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do
not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary
league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some
30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have
gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have
lost nothing by them."
"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are,
and what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a
prank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it
cost them two and thirty pounds."
"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first,
one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who
first called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he
been with you?"
"About a month then."
"How did he come?"
"In answer to an advertisement."
"Was he the only applicant?"
"No, I had a dozen."
"Why did you pick him?"
"Because he was handy and would come cheap."
"At half-wages, in fact."
"Yes."
"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?"
"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,
though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon
his forehead."
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought
as much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are
pierced for earrings?"
"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he
was a lad."
"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still
with you?"
"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him."
"And has your business been attended to in your absence?"
"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a
morning."
"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an
opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is
Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what
do you make of it all?"
"I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most
mysterious business."
"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less
mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless
crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is
the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this
matter."
"What are you going to do, then?" I asked.
"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I
beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled
himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his
hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his
black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.
I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and
indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his
chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put
his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.
"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he
remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare
you for a few hours?"
"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very
absorbing."
"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City
first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that
there is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is
rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is
introspective, and I want to introspect. Come along!"
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short
walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular
story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky,
little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy
two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in
enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded
laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and
uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with
"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced
the place where our red-headed client carried on his business.
Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side
and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between
puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down
again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally
he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously
upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up
to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a
bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step
in.
"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would
go from here to the Strand."
"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly,
closing the door.
"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is,
in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring
I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known
something of him before."
"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good
deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you
inquired your way merely in order that you might see him."
"Not him."
"What then?"
"The knees of his trousers."
"And what did you see?"
"What I expected to see."
"Why did you beat the pavement?"
"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We
are spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg
Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the
corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a
contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was
one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City
to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense
stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward,
while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of
pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line
of fine shops and stately business premises that they really
abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square
which we had just quitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing
along the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the
houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of
London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little
newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank,
the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building
depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,
Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A
sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where
all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no
red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums."
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a
very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All
the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect
happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the
music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes
were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the
relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was
possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature
alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and
astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction
against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally
predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from
extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was
never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been
lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his
black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase
would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning
power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were
unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a
man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him
that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I
felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set
himself to hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we
emerged.
"Yes, it would be as well."
"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This
business at Coburg Square is serious."
"Why serious?"
"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to
believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being
Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help
to-night."
"At what time?"
"Ten will be early enough."
"I shall be at Baker Street at ten."
"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,
so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his
hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the
crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was
always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings
with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had
seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that
he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to
happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and
grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought
over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed
copier of the "Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg
Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.
What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?
Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from
Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a
formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to
puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside
until night should bring an explanation.
It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my
way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker
Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered
the passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering
his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,
one of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official police
agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a
very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.
"Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his
pea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.
"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me
introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in
to-night's adventure."
"We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in
his consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for
starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do
the running down."
"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,"
observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily.
"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said
the police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which
are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical
and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It
is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of
the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly
correct than the official force."
"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the
stranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.
It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I
have not had my rubber."
"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will
play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and
that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,
the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will
be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands."
"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a
young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his
profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on
any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John
Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been
to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and
though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to
find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week,
and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.
I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him
yet."
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.
I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I
agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is
past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two
will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the
second."
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive
and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in
the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit
streets until we emerged into Farrington Street.
"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow
Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the
matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is
not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.
He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as
tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we
are, and they are waiting for us."
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had
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